The comfortable has a region,
We have no excellent virtue
But the virtue of virtues,
For this compels our comfort.
Damaged we stay, and defenceless;
Defend us now that dirt arises,
From the days of broken natures.
Complete my exact existence,
Instil the hearts you hear with kindness.
The disillusioned beliefs infer a madness
That we have no complex with,
Just deeds are again our command.
Common virtues shall attain our circle,
The circle of kindness and relief.