Overdraw Me, Lord, And Who Cares If

Lions And Lambs, Love And Force, Light And Fire, Good And Evil: All Things Climb The Same Mountain, The Mountain Of God.

I Hate All Virtues Based On Food And Bloated Bellies; Though Food And Drink Are Good, I'm Better Slaked And Fed By That Inhuman Flame Which Burns In Our Black Bowels. I Like To Name That Flame Which Burns Within Me God!

God Sends Rain, But He Also Sends Hoods; And When The Rain Grows Heavier, He Sends A Cave.

A Slave's Soul Has No Worth, My Brothers; It Lacks Strength To Tread On This Great Earth With Gallantry And Freedom. I Pity The Poor Slaves, They're Nought But Airy Mist, A Light Breeze Scatters Them, A Fragrance Knocks Them Down; It's Only Just They Crawl On The Earth On Hands And Knees. Today I'll Write A Hymn To God And Pray For This Great Grace.

Man Hurries, God Does Not. That Is Why Man's Works Are Uncertain And Maimed, While God's Are Flawless And Sure. My Eyes Welling With Tears, I Vowed Never To Transgress This Eternal Law Again. Like A Tree I Would Be Blasted By Wind, Struck By Sun And Rain, And Would Wait With Confidence; The Long-desired Hour Of Flowering And Fruit Would Come.