A reserved holy tear from the cloud is thee,
You that shower on the Labourers on this plane of existence,
Both the rich and the poor,
Likewise the good servant and the bad servant.
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A friend's eye is thee to us like a good mirror,
Likewise a quick-killer like a fallen passenger from plane on a rock,
From dawn to dawn your dog keep barking the smell and flavour to us,
For to hell is the soul that take thee as Cat to their rat.
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The survival and the messaih of the hungry and thirsty Lions is thee,
You that's the twin brother of Stomach friend,
When that stomach has been deserted by its friend,
Thee come as a knot-concubine to console the widow.
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The Messaih of the dry lung,we hail thee!