How long must we walk,
this path to the sea,
tears have been
shed about our tired feet,
as promisses given,
that our journey will deliver,
us to a land of fertile valleys,
and rivers of many waters,
flowing to the sea.
O'Homa, O'Homa, we were told,
that seeds of abudance
to which we will sow,
and harvest maise and roses,
gold and red, colors do flow,
our tribal banner flies,
a reminder of those lives expired,
on this journey,and souls delivered,
promisses taken, not given,
upon barren land we are delivered,
O'Homa, O'Homa,
O'Homa, O'Homa,
this is the land is our chant.
