Ivan J. Baumer - Eschaton lyrics

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 this sweet of his mercy, complied The peace that is pure So thick and so real Possesses the lasting allure Of an eternal appeal Clink Clink Clink Where the bloodshed is decadent From their 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, without a complaint I've come to see The mystery of grace The event of the tree Keeping the devils pace 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 patients When one man's father's 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. 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 But Lord, is this not my own pride? I ask this season That I must know what is inside The divine reason Can the rich 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 To live without sin, without ignorance, without fears While the poor are only superseded With more poor, more blindness, and more tears Mammon was the problem, but what was I proud of Yes, not to acquire, but to be from the start For in my ignorance I shunned your Divine Love Thinking bad manners exist not for the smart Now, they certainly exist and I would like to repeat though I am no nativist nor am among the elites Those, In which genius is found in the brains, And the burden of life is lightly yoked. When familial love is in the veins, and you O Lord are readily invoked. To be able to say, in true empathy “Oh poor, how sad it is they pay a shame they have this leprosy” To look at the child, so painfully beaten To say, “how sad, she, he, there, that one To see a young one, so awfully cheated Deep Purple thuds, a bundle of his" You gave me your healing balm “What I know about the poor” I cannot see your divine palm “Silently, you love them more” “Blessed are the poor” This is man's grandeur