As tribal elders sit, their tribal thoughts tie their tongue
We the foreigners, in this our land, where lies our future track
No place forward, none back
Hearing their city tribes talk the foreign tongue
They shuffle their tribal feet and wait and judge
And soon within their age-old eyes a light appears
Yes, it was there, though but a pinhead size
Frustrated still they walk away with knowing smile and gentle voice
Now we hope. 
For you have taught us Hope There Is.