We're just like but a clay
who by the potter was formed
according to His plan... according to His will
before it shapes to be a good vessel
it has to be marred up by His hands...
We're just like gold set in fire
who by the blacksmith fervoured the gold to be refined
be not afraid, only the fancies will fade
hold on... be a precious gold and gain
'coz only the pure will be contained...
We're just like but a poem
who by the author wrote the lines and ryhmes
without the heart of an ink, a piece couldn't be read
without the plume of the soul, a letter couldn't be heard
it is the life of the poem whom one's heart could be found....
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