SONG OF SORROW
It's horrible, dear Lord, with the need to horde.
With the need to love, without help from above.
So many things to say, without the ability to pray.
With the need to pay, with no blessings today.
So much sorrow.
Nothing to borrow.
Seething with pain.
Without the ability to reign.
The sun shines on the good, but they just stood.
You're blessings are gone.
Now this is my song.
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