Blessed be consciousness in its greatness.
Leading my wonders and my steps.
Leading my thought and life.
When there is cancer that cut down.
Gently having me ignore its wicked sakes.
Dancing in the mined-field taken shots at.
But consciousness laughs in songs.
Setting all of its wonder right.
As the moneymen comes crawling.
It hunts them down one by one so cruelly.
As the scammers keeps calling and calling.
It will cut them off and starve them.
Then comes the chilling cold.
As there will be no fuel for warming.
The righteous chooses if it wants to share.
There are people praying in empty streets.
Uttering the words already formed.
By wise who was before them.
But the ways so mysteriously hidden.
Only seen by the prideful righteous walkers.
For consciousness is great in its ways of talk.
Warning wise of impending doom.
Hearing the whispering wind.
It is so silent to all the taking losers.
Leading them astray with their own choices.
There is panic and suffering in all its change.
But those loyal have been prepared.
Given the synchronistic keys.
So that when truthiness can be done.
They do not burn and perish with the chaffs.
