To Rid the World

Oh, what peace to surely gain, to rid the world of this incessant pain.

Murder, envy, and deviant strife corrupt the souls of purest fate.

To us much blindness, but to evil success,

Of what peace shall we gain, but to rid us of this pain.

Sin within is a binding force, corrupting manners, destroying lives.

Sin within is a grinding force, deceiving men, devising shame.

Plans with pure, simple design, now corrupt, in little time.

Oh, what peace to surely gain, only to rid us of this pain.

Humbleness in a plan of doom haunts a man with quiet gloom.

Hatred, disease, problems galore, all with origin to this pain.

This world will cease it’s good much soon,

Save only to this present pain.