My search goes on, seemingly vain…
Traumatic times are a regular phase.
For at each turn, I behold only pain.
Oh why should my people see such days?
I see my land bathed in innocents' blood…
As I await His light – the cleansing flood.
I remain entranced by this surreal mystique.
I hear a moan, I hear a cry…
As we wait for it all to dry;
The twisted folk deem more blood, to spill!
What times are these, which we live in…?
I listen’d to tales of the Devil’s grin…
And unto Frey, did I turn to pray.
O Lord! May Thy rule stay Divine…
I pray – as this sun sets in decline,
Contorted Reality will not have 50th post celebrations. Instead, please join me in lighting a candle here.
Ad majorem Dei gloriam.