Light by the campfire brighter than your eyes An obvious digression would reveal: A portrait of an illness in disguise— Encapsulated in--to what we feel. O let me hear the whining of the wind ‘Tis better if I listen than to see— The colours of your maiden smile that pinned— Down to the chasm of uncertainty, We’ll never fold our hope we conjugate Each destiny has narrow alleyways Without assurance on the given date, For shall it be His will; to write your days. Won't fail by faith we should learn how to trust, We’re vassal of His particles and mass.
