We proclaim metaphorical blessing.
Our veins spent time in pragmatic dilemma,
Our Spittles conjure the dead,
We are the light of the world.
Night no longer stand at ease,
We are the soldiers and knights of light.
Our words we make swords,
We are the salt of the world,
Our physiognomies transfer happiness to humans' countenance.
Deafening noise amidst solemnity,
Masses now longed to attend mass.
Our sermons stood like angels,
Bending the neck of all demons,
We are the new Gods.
We are the architects of our problems,
With eyesore of detriments.
We sat on our good deeds,
But at last we are up to the throne of glory,
No matter if we come across any gory.
Sound of a pin drop
Never make a noise in our midst,
Flames from a burning furnace
Never melt the stone in our heart,
We are the eyes created to see afar.
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