Who am I, who strides the dirt with dollars on my heels?

Who disregards reality society reveals?

Deriving specious wisdom from the ignorance of night

Amused by shameful mockery the media deems right

Who am I, neglecting hands to aid my crooked spine?

Assume constructive alms are placed to renovate what’s mine

Who am I to tremble ‘fore the thought of redesign,

When notions of my turning point will lead to my decline?

Who am I to stand before a Prophet of the just,

When fleeting, shameful doubt ignites the oil on this rust?

Set aflame by reasoning to prominently live

When all in his returning gaze is power to forgive

Who is he who molds upon conformities of earth?

Who strives with love and confidence to prove what we are worth

Whose pleasure dwells in charity, to cure this wordly cause

Whose hope dwells in humanity, in what I am, or was

What is life, if not a sign to roll up both your sleeves

And struggle to enforce the words his humbleness conceives

And though I cannot touch the hand of wisdom’s mortal cast,

His words imply that “who am I” shall never ‘gain be asked

I’m a fierce endorser of the truths I trust as clear

I’m a voice that’s singing words that everyone will hear

I’m a child born of dawn who ventures to the night

Converting nonbelievers to the innocence of light

I stepped before a Prophet, and I lie awake tonight

And trust that, when the morning breaks, then peace will reunite