In the middle of America Muhammad sits and cries
Exiled from the land he loves; his legacy defiled
Muslim killing Muslim, their rage pokes out their eyes
And mothers cannot bury all their children who have died.
I cry with you, Sweet Mother; your grief can know no bounds
Grasping at each shred of hope before another burns it down
Children with their books in hand, they could find the gold
But hatred just won’t let them; See! Her hope is growing old.
Howl O Muslim Mother! Lay your body down and roar
The feminine beneath their boot will rise from bloodied floors
With Muhammad’s blessing, she has reached a boiling point
Every daughter will hear her cry and will themselves anoint.
While Jacob, Esau wrestle, Eve will put that apple back
This time she’ll crush that serpent’s head before his next attack
Jam the barrels of every gun, walk through the bombing rain
Shame those who say peace cannot be – See! God will come again.
Muslim Mother, stand your ground, make them hear your song
Not one more death will stain your breast; hatred’s ruled too long
Your stolen daughters lie in wait – O! let them see you rise
Through you God will heal all wounds; through you put back their eyes!