Trust is the prelude of gust
Fast and strong a result,
Of experiences that crushed,
Words you cussed for being hushed.

Among the rust avoiding to be corrupt,
Discussed myself trying to readjust,
Occult is the trust tucked behind the cult.

It wants to interrupt playing in the front,
While being in disgust selling you mistrust.
And what’s there to trust, when it instruct you insults?

What’s just is to be found after the hunt,
Once the gust of trust dust your guilt,
There’s nothing to be fear,
see the balance tilt to what is near,
it’ll make your problems disappear,
all you feel that’s real and dear,
Trust itself will find you peace.