Behind the shadow comes a Face
locked in this world,
out of home or place;
but in the faith It finds some grace,
which is hard to salvage in this icky race.
I monotonous world so blah and bare,
it is hard to see how people care.
The only thrill comes with a dare,
To beat and brake and kill the mare.
On the Face are innocent eyes,
so keep it clean and tell no lies.
For in the shadow It weeps and cries
of tears more severe then mild good-byes.
Until this world shall end the race,
where other wait to even pace,
and all people shall have more grace,
then never will he show His face.