When the cruel, uncaring world, after a tiring day of torturous turmoil, pushes me down to the bottom of the filthy dark pit of life.
And as I lie – bruised, beaten and helpless.
Your hand rests on my wrinkled forehead, softly soothing my troubled brow.
Your lips kissing my weary eye-lids,
And then gently holding my hand in yours you take me to the land of bubbling brooks and blooming blossoms.
Adding a pleasant interlude to the brutal interlude of struggle.
The savior of wretched souls.