The Redemptive
God's work shall yet portray
A bringer of curse, a black feather, ye
Roads of salt does he lay
For all those, not to discriminate
A man of the cloth, an infidel wroth
To Him, we are all made of clay
We will not hear
We will not speak
We will not see
For our faith lies within thee
And we will have faith, and have only faith
For clay need not eat, nor sleep
And we will work, and we will only work
For clay can not sweat, nor cry, nor tire, nor lie
For He has made us all as we are,
Blind