Foxbeard

	I knew a man who found a forrest overseas,
	he grew his beard like the grounds bears trees.
	callous his hands his heart bled dry,
	he kept the fire in the clutch of his eyes.
	Painted with a dark stroke dirty on the canvas,
	creation was holy, we chose it against it.
	The Devil he's evil no need to proclaim,
	it's the choices we make that bring glory to his name,
	Glory to his name!