Damn these eyes of cursed vision,
Pluck them from their resting place.
Take thy blade with quick decision,
Gouge them out, their goals are base.

Let my ears be now withdrawn;
Let them hear of no more tattle.
Rumors rave and gospel's gone,
Free me from this spoken battle.

Wrest from me all sentiment,
Reap from me these thoughts I've sown.
Unearth the roots of ill intent,
Before the fields are fully grown.

If I befall the things I've said,
Then evil will have surely won.
This I ask of you instead,
Knowing that "thy will be done".

Bless these eyes with tears of mercy,
Make them keen and sharp again.
Let them see through controversy;
Pierce the hearts of evil men.

Make my ears an implement,
To better hear the people's cries.
My tongue shall be your instrument;
Your tune will give them strength to rise.

I've struggled with my sentiment,
And grew a field of sorry weeds.
Fill my mind with your intent,
And I shall turn those thoughts to deeds.