Oh how tis this world become,
Hath it become so distruaght?
In my steed.
I stand upon this hill,
Crying out “O Lord, hath I done, Something to anger your almighty wrath?”
But alas, there is no answer,
As I begin to weep,
My all to valant tears,
Washing down to thy death covered lands,
That haths once called home,
Now nothing but your birds hunt,
Tis a sad yellow day,
As I watched my fellow man.
Crumble like bread to a dove,
To their own lusts.
Their black weezing hearts,
Lay atop a judging rock, for God to see,
Their blood tis their sins.
Now, so few live in grace, to fall to the Devils claws,
Into the licking flames of thee Old Reaper.
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