''For Our Remission''

Our psyches form an eerie mood; we hold the fearful, bated breath (the melancholy that makes us brood). We smell the scent of gloom's despair; we feel the menace of sudden death: how broken we just are to care! Thank God for him, the heaven's Lord; our fight with misery and pain ends with the gift of his great Sword; the tears of manic-depression flow down our tear-stained cheeks again: but now they're for our remission.