Wems Henry Temmy Psalm 9
I don't need mawkish pleads to save the fertilized soil
Or a withered fault tied to the debris of a poor foil
When languishing in the asters kissed by empty wish to unlock
Luck sinking in beneath the ghost floundering the fen of nightmare
Married long since gone the way of floating sculls peer
Grossed point photographs that pinned numbers of craziness in padlock
Still I run....
in His grace
with His pace
out of deadly fun
I am a man managing culture with religion
Troubling weather whether balance will be fair
Coupling heritage's park and doctrine's file
Hide me, hide all; find fault, find no region
How long will it take to get in and participate unaware!
Meddling check with Mercy's measures in pile
Still I run....
in His grace
with His pace
out of deadly fun
Don't walk away, please, don't walk away
Fine chaff of less weight willing to separate
Wind keeps the tease in pleasure hitting the drive astray
Differences heightened by farewell, bill to accelerate
Unless I wish not to really return but roam
Jogging the stroller of compassion at the ancient home
Still I run....
in His grace
with His pace
out of deadly fun
God don't watch the race of the sun
Bleeding the crimson woods' leaves
In in its static but dangling position
Swinging to escape the harshness brutally dun
Trying to put up with humans' need in grieves
For more than enough is already in acquisition
Still I run....
in His grace
with His pace
out of deadly fun
Everyday is lead with no guarantee of tomorrow
My rival, time, is yet undone broken
That all hours would seize like the day of Joshua
And ease the agony of defeat and sorrow
To enjoying the pause of asking how will it happen?
Like a horny mood craving to loose Olósó's mantua
Still I run....
in His grace
with His pace
out of deadly fun
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