High on the crucial benders of the mind,
The world, oh Lord, has no time to regret;
We care not about this mankind,
Though think sometimes of other fortunes yet.
Eternity's forgotten, say, for good.
The testament of Christ is in the past...
And stuffy life in such a neighborhood
Is hardly picturesque too long to last.
And we complain of poverty and plight,
And blame you, Lord, for being of bliss bereft.
We sometimes cannot see your magic light,
And if it's true - what can be there left?
Whose minds are artificially askew -
Those pass away without finding you.