Escape to the Arms of Lord

The Mist

vistas 19

Silent tear dropped
in morbid pupil it shined
A morning mother cried
Her child lied on her arms

Would it be better to crowl

In a corner, a sad shadowy form

Echoes a moom deep in the soul
Darkness thicken the mist babbles
In the somber night that coldly comes

Would it be better to know how to fly

A deep moom out of the chest
Tears cutting the face
What is god, this dark mistery
That with his power, damned the world?