Who then are we, that he would be mindful of us? As drops of rain’s ocean return to cool evening mist And as summer’s grass withers, so we fade to dust Thus our Father in heaven, in his infinite wisdom Has chosen we the foolish to confound the wise And from the obvious sin of his wicked children We can deduce that our science is based on but lies Just as microscopic leeches in our small intestines Unlikely believe in the reality of me and of you So the modern professor in his vanity of superstition Needs a change in position, to know what is true
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