WINE AND GATES
Boxes, of Kings, Ghost Uncle Forgets Feet Yet
the thirst of any cherub
of nye is a herald of cold mercy to the nerve of who'm
the lucre of butter and the hive of sincerity made up
the role of misery in the lurid path of a bull is one to assume
we push drugs
that thought is for love
we think this smells like a bug
here is your covenant
what goes best with that shy and ignored eye?
try a peanut, you rascal
was that pony to wried, a tomorrows lye
that makes us even, and a pistachio's kill
of a rabbit in love, is a hair to fair, mete
of a horse to passion, is a hair to care, meat
of a bee to embolden, is a hair to where, mead
of a bat to liberate, is a hair to share, mate
why then do we fall in love with the sun at night?
where the moon is all of a crude song to the knowing pride
of a common enough terror of here to seek the mete of slight
just like fury's in the dark, we tell the truth, tried
we already smelled that turd
we already souled that heard
we already killed that occured
we already felled that word
prayers to the piped hype
we are a zealout of grins and spins of a wind
that much we have a coat, a hat and an ass wipe
this is your bible in love with sin
smoke has cleared
the fear of cigarettes has become a flower
the past tense has become weird
why don't we think the raincloud of a day sour?
milk you dont know...
has a wish ever set upon your mind to give a liberty the rhyme
that lust for life is a courage in the toe
like a bent penny, we still think a stink is a christ's kind
where has Cupid gone?
why has Dracula fallen for the tooth fairy?
when has Frankenstein made a bathtub song?
who has the Wolf Man for an eye ball staring?
one day, the phantom's of naivete were done with oddity
the tree of honor and vindication, is a well spring of bells
that wool, is a word in the gray of a noble ear meant to liberate beauty
we are still the pride of a common worth for fruits that taste, really ...
of nye is a herald of cold mercy to the nerve of who'm
the lucre of butter and the hive of sincerity made up
the role of misery in the lurid path of a bull is one to assume
we push drugs
that thought is for love
we think this smells like a bug
here is your covenant
what goes best with that shy and ignored eye?
try a peanut, you rascal
was that pony to wried, a tomorrows lye
that makes us even, and a pistachio's kill
of a rabbit in love, is a hair to fair, mete
of a horse to passion, is a hair to care, meat
of a bee to embolden, is a hair to where, mead
of a bat to liberate, is a hair to share, mate
why then do we fall in love with the sun at night?
where the moon is all of a crude song to the knowing pride
of a common enough terror of here to seek the mete of slight
just like fury's in the dark, we tell the truth, tried
we already smelled that turd
we already souled that heard
we already killed that occured
we already felled that word
prayers to the piped hype
we are a zealout of grins and spins of a wind
that much we have a coat, a hat and an ass wipe
this is your bible in love with sin
smoke has cleared
the fear of cigarettes has become a flower
the past tense has become weird
why don't we think the raincloud of a day sour?
milk you dont know...
has a wish ever set upon your mind to give a liberty the rhyme
that lust for life is a courage in the toe
like a bent penny, we still think a stink is a christ's kind
where has Cupid gone?
why has Dracula fallen for the tooth fairy?
when has Frankenstein made a bathtub song?
who has the Wolf Man for an eye ball staring?
one day, the phantom's of naivete were done with oddity
the tree of honor and vindication, is a well spring of bells
that wool, is a word in the gray of a noble ear meant to liberate beauty
we are still the pride of a common worth for fruits that taste, really ...
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Boxes, of Kings, Ghost Uncle Forgets Feet Yet
Boxes, of Kings, Ghost Uncle Forgets Feet Yet