I Cry When The Poor Are Smited Hard
I Vow I Shall Always Remain Poor With Them
I Cry When The Sick Are Butchered and Drugged
Their Angels Are Ever Silently Watching By
I Want To Pray To Their Gaurdian Angels To Save Them

"Clover Meadows"
Clover Grows in some faraway meadow that I know not
Some memory fills me with the scents and hopes of Clover Meadows
Faraway, There are White Linen-Clad Youths eating in meadows green
The Grass so clean cannot be adulterated by an impure stain
The Sun shining its warmth into the Clover Meadow
Some Faraway Days I Shall See Another Garden
And Run, Run, Run From This Wretched City Grime!
Clover Meadows Fill My Dreams with longings of freedom
Clover Meadows