Often called the land of promise,
Mindanao my native land,
Her soil wet with innocent blood,
The promises many but few are done,
Here stealth cunning warriors,
Are professed men of God,
Their decency turns refute,
For shedding innocent blood,
Anxiety pierced deep in our hearts,
Even at calm starry nights,
Anytime in the city or the woods,
Barking guns shimmering lights,
Is there hope for tomorrow?
Will our wailing cease?
Will our children and their offsprings,
Have the chance to live in peace?