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