Glasses full with wine silently clink,
"To us, long life," softly whispered.
Eyes that speak, lips drawn thin,
A house, not a home, tortured within.
Grace before meals secretly said,
Cross traced quickly on forehead.
O Lord, deliver us from this turmoil,
Take this burden from our backs.
One hypocrite alone controls, he is the albatross.
The fool knows not his loss.
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