A glimpse, such that my senses leave
Me, from myself, cleaves
Obeisance, such that my bows continual
Are tribute for rights to the worship ritual
Adoration for you, O Idol, so hard
That you stand deified in all's regard
Clamour for your quarters so compelling
That here in raw despair am I trudging
A glimpse, such that my senses leave
Me, from myself, cleaves
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