When I sat here last night it was pitch black, In the waiting room of your presence, fear was no respecter of me, They asked me what I was looking for, I said hope, They asked me what I was fighting for, I said peace of mind,
A believer and here I was, marching to Zion, The Promised Land that was promised to me and those before me and after me,
So I want to keep on trusting without holding back, Keep on pushing without letting go,
And to quit holding back, From a God whose fire no one can hold a candle to, To Zion, I’ll march on to Zion, Where the land is fertile and the air is clean, Zion.
AFRO387 