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In Destitute of Discontentment

Time has allowed us to recuperate
But life is not ours to preponderate
In this world where man work and thrive to die
We prefix ourselves to measure its cry
How much then this life is worth? ; So much as
We ravish ourselves in treasures and class
And dig us to our own destruction
In ignorance we suffer desiccation
While we are plasmolyzed by pure wisdom
Our souls are thrown out of His kingdom
And what good could this bring about our lives?
When we are too weak to move with every stride
If only there’s a way to bring back time
For us to taste still life’s sin and prime