I Feel and To God I Appeal
My dear God,
This strange Sod
Has turned hard,
Its mind isn't broad.
War is by it loved,
Disaster is allowed,
To kill, it has vowed,
It carries blood-cloud.
It enjoys being a traitor,
Peace, it loves to shatter,
Death is to it a jolly matter,
It disrespects the Creator.
Money alone is its need,
It is occupied by greed,
It grows with pleasure weed,
A sinful life, it loves to lead.
It prefers doing massacre,
It refuses to give succor,
It wants deaths to occur,
To give everyone rancor.
Dear God, are you existing?
Won't you be arresting
Those who are persisting
To destroy via a wise listing?
If you kindly do this,
We can get true bliss.
Will you give a promise
To cure through your kiss?
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