We Know Not What to Pray

Walking down the clay path,
I realize, "We know not what to pray."
For we want wives, and homes and children,
And for our hearts by these things made gay.
I then realize, we know not what to ask.
For, we must ask for peace be still,
And to love our neighbor as our last.

Then I see the hellborn servant,
The one who says this phrase,
"I know to hell I am going,
"So go big to win Satan's praise."
Yet there is all suffering,
And there you deserve to die.

So I ask God, I ask God,
"Should I be like him make me die."
For I wish to not walk another step
In this world of empty fame.
If I am a stumbling block to others,
Let me die LORD, if I have thy Rage.
Yet, I ask for peace, and to be made righteous still.
That is why, the Servant of Hell,
Is going, for he is selfishly revealed.
The things of this life are his only treasure,
And to steal from me he will.
He will take all I ever asked for,
Except the heavenly hills I fill
My mouth with, and the roads of golden clay.
There I wish to walk, there I will some day.