In praise the poetic strain
It will always be this way
As it's ordained to remain so
It's the eternal ordered flow
You cannot convince or sway
To erupt the arrangement set
The maker knows well His plan
Gives little heed to the cries of demons
Whom so know the One who sits
There is a silent ongoing tone
He has set in called hearts openly
To return the answer from eternity
Fill the one with a sweet longing
Given apart from incessant plea
Sadly many are not all concerned
For to dust they are bent to return
Not at all beyond the grave to see
Still we dwell among the tone dead
Our bend to open deaf ears
Apply salve to eyes full of fears
If per grace to life they are led
But alas we cannot do the deed
We hum and sway to distant songs
The eternal chord drawing us on
Gibberish foolishness so clearly read.
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