A Crusade To the Unborn
We age past time
We aim up high
We tell how fine
We feel so high
Hence,lie, to those whose eyes
doesn't want to see us cry
-At distance miles-
When a fiend asks why?
Then, tauntingly, we grow
hauntingly, our souls are sold
-We tend not to know-
Which is golden or gold
It goes, so on and on
Our erring hearts so burnt
We yearn to be reborn
But time-reflects so blunt
Vague is the road we trod
These forlorn gifts are false
Its all a test by God
For the first man's curse is us
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