This period is seperated by letters
All wil taste the grave even your haters
The realm where you won't send letters.
Our sins guiding us through the gutters
And hell if not found with glitters.

One day you were born from the womb
And the same will be to the tomb .
Your hair straightened from the comb.
But the voices will be heard from a distant
Being the truth not being hesitant
Of the Almighty God's voice.