The Comforter

Can’t see it yet feels so good
Your labour is loved by all
Thy soothing feeling increases my need of you

Accross the street vendrant carpet they stroll
For the fruit of thy sweet labour
Your essence, the instant cure for my worries

Such is your destiny
But works of man stains thy holy garmet
He that you love and care for

Yet bright is you even in the darkest dungeon
The prosecuters even yearns for thy mercies
You are Man’s Comforter

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The Haymaker

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