He is the Glorious, He is the Just,
What am I but clay, created of this crust?
He is the Sovereign, the Creator of this all,
And I'm but a slave, lots strutter, lots fall.
Have you seen a ball, or a balloon, or a bubble?
Have you seen how they're bloated, and around wobble?
Then just a prick on a surface so bright,
And it all comes down - crashing, alright.
What's up, what evidence have I to justify
If I patrol 'round, branding all of it as lies?
If I've no vision to see the signs true,
I'd probably, under blindness, be excused.
But don't I have a mind, for all that I see,
To know the One, to set me free?
Don't I know well that the questions I raise,
Are little more for anything but wisdom-praise?
That none with intelligence would question such,
For there are mighty many of which we'll know not much.
That I'm a blind man who's shut his own eyes,
Better be called blind than see the truth of lies.
Such a mighty coward! Just one massive wave,
And it all comes crashing down upon the slave.
