Oh how pitiful my fallen child
my winged love and much beguiled
though I've made the world as mine
it's you they worship as divine.
You who's power they can see
I keep my glory in anonymity.
So those who love me love me blind
while others see you as genuine.
It's something in the physical realm
that says seeing is believing
even if it's fictitious creatures of hell.
So it's you my child that most will love
and only few will see these heavenly gates above
Few will know that faith has eyes
till the day they know: the day they die.
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