To the dying heart, oh kindle that flame
Fan thy embers and save thy soul
The darkness has bound you in chains of steel
And steel of worldliness and sin
Shatter your mirror of vanity, your crystal pride
Bomb your jaded palaces and towers of ivory
Thy utopia is but a non-existent fiction
A void awaiting the collapse of the star of death
The eyes can pierce the soul of man
Yet His would judge him
But then he still gazes at the putrid mixture called self
And longs to find the tiniest shard of hope
Why should anyone even care for this ungrateful creature
Whose hobby is to destroy itself?
But He believes
Eternally
Without end
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