For many call me good.
Many call me just.
I am but written words.
Those who have access to me control me.
I pity the weak.
They long for me but what power have I?
Kingdoms are forsaken their lines abandoned.
Mercy is at stake, yet the world revolves.
Who will go before thee?
Who will fight for thee?
I am but words shapes with ink on paper.
How powerful can the moon be?
How worthy is a saint?
The plain wither, the strong fall for who can stand against me?
The foolish become wise thru me.
I wrap my arms around the unwanted.
I am nothing and yet all.

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