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Prayer for the Lost

My church, my temple, my mosque; Oh ancient trees Oh formless ocean Oh majestic mountains Oh winged, hoofed, and clawed; My congregation, my Sangha, all my distant cousins To all of you I come Head bowed Modest and in awe My heart is heavy My mind; weary and in disarray My brothers and sisters Have all lost their way They've all agreed To trade your Heaven For a manufactured Hell Though I plead and protest They seem to prefer a thousand lies To the one great Truth Oh pure of heart Oh clear of mind I beseech you Show me your miracles Teach me your magic Grant me the wisdom To, either change the hearts of men Or, to at least forgive them For their crimes against you.

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