To maunder on this dusky, dubious trace
where one becomes lost and is never found
again; deafening his ears from the sound
that cries for help how to flee from this race

Unworthy and obtuse, last is my place
but no one heeds, as a snow falls on mound.
Now tell me how to stand tall on the ground
as I start quitting on this hurtful maze.

But then, my Father soon replied, "My child,
come to my arms, I bring you protection."
From that I ascertained a Father's love mild
who hears and accepts my imperfection,
who dedicates His life just for my earn.