Father God, You have shed Your tears for Mother India
They have fallen to water ancient seeds
That will grow into hands to touch the untouchable
How blessed are the poor, the sick, the weak

Father, forgive me, for I have not believed
Like Mother India, I have groaned and grieved
Father, forgive me, I forgot Your grace
Your Spirit falls on India and captures me in Your embrace

The serpent spoke and the world believed its venom
Now we're ten to a room or compared with magazines

There's a land where our shackles turn to diamonds
Where we trade in our rags for a royal crown
In that place, our oppressors hold no power
And the doors of the King are thrown wide

words and music by Andrew Osenga and Randall Goodgame

Behind the Song:
"This is my favorite song on the album. After the first few days in India and seeing a couple of different cities with all the poverty, yet all the beauty there, I wanted to write something that would hopefully sound as huge as the experience felt to me. I think that the greatest joy comes from the greatest sadness, and I love how joyful the end of the song becomes, because of the dirt and tears in the beginning." - Andrew Osenga (Caedmon's Call)