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rich can afford the grace that is needed To live without sin, without ignorance, without fears While the poor are only superseded With more poor, more blindness, and more tears O Lord, how I desire to be the rich But not the rich now, but the rich, just born For then, I could say, in my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.