Grace is a free gift 
That cover up all drifts 
Even in its own shift
It troubles logical thefts

Truly, in problems, it seems there is no grace
Or you think many are out of space
May be its remains are of trace
Meant for those who set the pace

Working grace is for all
Just that many don't listen to its call
And leads it astray to their downfall
Yet, aligned beings get to stand tall

Someone paid for it
To let go of us- punishment 
Our troubles and shits 
Laid down as the sheep for atonement

He died for our sakes
Without complaining of aches 
Yet, for us; wines and breads, he bakes 
And our destined home, he makes