"Oh, dear, dear God,
I'm not a piece of mud.
I'm not a lump of dirt.
I'm willing work and stay:
I want to be a solid clay
no matter how much this hurts.
Oh, Dear God, at dawn at that day,
please, form me as you may."

For as long as you like you can try...
Die trying to mold
a human out of mud
like out of clay.
Every time as you failed you'll cry
God's trying to hold
a human out of mud
and formed him like out of clay.

Oh, God, you can mix, you can hold,
you can pour,
smelly goo into the form
of the terracote clay.
You can wish and hope, to behold
something poor
as it keeps getting warm
in attempt to became a clay.

But, gosh, it will never ever work
because in the firing heat
mud remains as mud
no matter how much God will pray.
The mud will never turn into a solid rock -
the quality'll never fit.
And mud will remains as mud
and will never became a clay.

Oh, God, dear God, you have messed something realy up.
Somewhere, somehow it should stop, just stop.

2.03.2023