"Me Lord," out of a noble mouth,
Are proof that's never to be denied,
Rotate doth the Earth as we're in its flow,
Yet hard to accept that now is morrow.
The four chambers are dying in pain
Without me aware of its brokenness and vain,
Slowly I will revive it and cure,
Till it can stand, firm and secure.
Ooo world, mother earth,
Release me from thy bond,
So that I shan’t forget,
Of what I am waiting for.
Looking to a mirror all this while, I
Unconsciously saying of what was I sigh,
Tainted is the best word could hold,
Blood spoilt is the price that was sold.
Defiled crimson flowing through with ease,
Uncured by the corrupted piece,
Both hands roses to the skies above,
Seeking refuge of what lies hereof.
-Afdhal-
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