till the silence of the grave
there's an ad lib voice begging forgiveness
It seems like your euphonic
world has evanescent our souls,
leaving us too gauche too live
Under the Georgette we are too nude to face thyself
Trying to understand thy non nonpareil, stern powers
we have been bashed and pulverized by thy angels
Atop the mountains and hills
the fearful banshee cries
Down in the valleys our barbarity asks for mercy.
O thy ever merciful
consider not our bleeding eyes to be madder
for the obsequies of our loves had made us so obfuscate.
Listen to the cries of the starving young
see the regret in thy fallacy followers
have mercy on thy free prisoners.
Forgive us O Lord almighty
for the womb is now bleeding dry
and the genii are rising from their graves.
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