He sees all,
He feels all,
And never leaves you be.
He knows all,
What a crock,
he's to blind to see.
It may be hard,
For the devout,
To not believe the lies.
It is a mass of deceit,
A flower of fraud,
No-one survives in the skies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem