My search goes on, seemingly vain… Traumatic times are a regular phase. For at each turn, I behold only pain. Oh why should my people see such days? I see my land bathed in innocents' blood… I fear her future is decreed thus bleak. As I await His light – the cleansing flood. I remain entranced by this surreal mystique. I hear a moan, I hear a cry… The land is too blood-soaked to till. As we wait for it all to dry; The twisted folk deem more blood, to spill! What times are these, which we live in…? Beneath clouds so dark and skies so grey. I listen’d to tales of the Devil’s grin… And unto Frey , did I turn to pray. O Lord! May Thy rule stay Divine… For our hours on ye Earth are entirely Thine. I pray – as this sun sets in decline, It brings peace upon this beloved land of mine! --- Ad majorem Dei gloriam
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