The Inquisition

Weep not for those whom the veil of tomb,
A life's early mornin has hid from their eyes,
It has been an age of long sorrow of such cruelty
In such a hell begotten world of ours,
Into wat it seems to be is an abyss of hate And injustice,
Though with a crushed and a bleeding heart she takes you,
Numbered every bitter tear,
Heaven's long years of bliss shall pay,
When she makes inquisition for blood,
She forgets not to cry for the humble.