Den of destruction is far away from us,
The rigours of its interior are like a mansion house.
The map shows our blunders, far too costly
For we can not arrive so early at the tomb.
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To govern the nation of strength
Is to be gorgeous, irreligious and irresistible.
In the strong liquors is a mystery,
Of light and darkness, that of the country.
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Guesses are correct according to the saints,
Answers are solved this way, from complaints.
Why do saints question and interrogate us?
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Tonight the tall grasses sway atop the scenery,
To this speak of width of your lenses, the bitter eye.
I gather before me my sight that was extinguished
All because of my awkward light, and dusk was begotten.
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Minute fractures come this way,
The bones of course mattered
But then the elements defeated
And established material was upset.
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Decisions are being made all the time by those at the top,
Tomorrow there is a futuristic twist and so we are appalled
By the rough work, so hard to decipher.
Decide now when to harshly criticize, when to wonder
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The appearance of a face when viewing His Maker
Is like no other, is famed forever, always in stings of love.
The face guarantees us the sense to astound God
Through Remembrance and Prayer, always in joy and wonder.
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