Grace comes from the hand
Of the Benevolent God
Able to transport Man
From this lowly trod
Trod, trod, trod was the feet
Of this celestial child
Who rests in the sweet
Rest of his mercy, complied
The peace that is so pure
So thick and so real
Possess the lasting allure
Of an eternal appeal
Clink Clink Clink
Broods the sound of bloodshed
Outside the Cathedral brink
Where the difference is evident
Though I doubt not the peace from within,
I do not understand the war from without.
For though, from this world, you may desire to flee,
Even the mightiest saint
And the behemoth of the sea
Falls to the ground with a thud in a taint
This world around me,
I do not understand
With the burdens of living and dying,
abuses and burdens
of Parents and town and family
with rules, and regulations of society
When one man's fathers don't follow,
These and other rules of being
It leads even the man, as great as Apollo
To wonder if this life is worth living.
To live in the clouds is a wonderful embrace,
To bask with Bonaventure, Claire and Ignatius
But to deal with the family of kindly face
Is a cancer in the hole of the innocent patient
Blessed are the poor, cries the Lord above
Blessed are your poor, says the Lord as a rule
But unfortunately, I can't seem to shove
This idea in the book of my solitary school
When the rich can afford the grace that is needed
To live without sin, without ignorance, without fears
While the poor are only superseded
With more poor, more blindness, and more tears
O Lord, how I desire to be the rich
But not the rich now, but the rich, just born
For then, I could say, in my comfortable niche
In which loans are a byword and bad manners are scorned
In which familial love is in the veins,
And the burden of life is lightly yoked.
Where genius is found in the brains,
and God is readily invoked.
To be able to say,
in true empathy
“Oh poor, how sad it is they pay
a shame they have this leprosy
I'll go to the soup kitchen, to countries and tithe
All to help the poor as they die"
To look at the child, so painfully beaten
To say, “how sad that is
To see such a young one, so awfully cheated
Deep Purple thuds, a bundle of his"
Equality, it may be greater here than anywhere under the sky,
But Equality, as it stands, must be seen as it truly is: A big fat lie.
Equality. Equality. Equality. What a lie.
One thing I know and this certainly is not through
“Happy are the poor”… but Lord, that can't be true.