WINE AND GATES
Saint Aint Int Nt T (see habits run into mirrors pure)
thought the union of the game
he put, the silly word of metal and the since
in the curses of a tear in the west of fame
an egg to salute the aspiration of times - where the tradition is religions
he thought the sands of time, the thanks of worth in the first place
pain, do you have the reach of mercy in your belly
personalities may divulge a horror to you, like i am the pace
turned like a future in the east, we searched for the willing
such a small lip to kindly give, a crash course in methods done
the luck of whiches and the irony of fishes is more than enough
to seek the rest of a worry on the behalf of families and the readiness of come
the tale is almost done, like a heart onto itself, to establish love
maybe the truth was lost in the shuffle, of birds, bees and the ache of burden
true to sincerity or security, we knew the reality of kneaded bread
it lived in the causes of callous energies to show the way to girding
thus the season of fall, we mystified at the knowing glance of a head
penny for your thoughts, the liberty in a galling animal
thinking the wind an amorous old man, the puberty of seldom seen touches of mayhem
tongues of sardonacism that groomed a word, at the cost of a unity's plural
sanity on the verge of honour to befit a wedded future, gone the way of anger's whim
taste of a dread, home to the pure at heed
the wage of mesmeral sinks of justice in the gray, of memory made to know
the stilled rage of common wheres and when of all's of seed
by the sound of the times, we found the charity of a snow...
in the end, ever the presence of reality to fake the mention of love
by the way to lifes rhyme, the take of the land became a salty excuse for myriad fears
the turn of selection in the mind of the being, was for thus even does
in the shadows of sense, we're...
he put, the silly word of metal and the since
in the curses of a tear in the west of fame
an egg to salute the aspiration of times - where the tradition is religions
he thought the sands of time, the thanks of worth in the first place
pain, do you have the reach of mercy in your belly
personalities may divulge a horror to you, like i am the pace
turned like a future in the east, we searched for the willing
such a small lip to kindly give, a crash course in methods done
the luck of whiches and the irony of fishes is more than enough
to seek the rest of a worry on the behalf of families and the readiness of come
the tale is almost done, like a heart onto itself, to establish love
maybe the truth was lost in the shuffle, of birds, bees and the ache of burden
true to sincerity or security, we knew the reality of kneaded bread
it lived in the causes of callous energies to show the way to girding
thus the season of fall, we mystified at the knowing glance of a head
penny for your thoughts, the liberty in a galling animal
thinking the wind an amorous old man, the puberty of seldom seen touches of mayhem
tongues of sardonacism that groomed a word, at the cost of a unity's plural
sanity on the verge of honour to befit a wedded future, gone the way of anger's whim
taste of a dread, home to the pure at heed
the wage of mesmeral sinks of justice in the gray, of memory made to know
the stilled rage of common wheres and when of all's of seed
by the sound of the times, we found the charity of a snow...
in the end, ever the presence of reality to fake the mention of love
by the way to lifes rhyme, the take of the land became a salty excuse for myriad fears
the turn of selection in the mind of the being, was for thus even does
in the shadows of sense, we're...
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Saint Aint Int Nt T (see habits run into mirrors pure)
Saint Aint Int Nt T (see habits run into mirrors pure)
