WINE AND GATES
Naming Children For Napalmed Cities Still...
time to bug
the right side of war
the made bed, the salt in the hug
that skipped breakfast and went off...their rocker
sundry files on poise in the road to dwell like toads and lambs
the first of many roses to be found under the tongue, of raving hunger
the twitch of a light in the east, that has no name except that which damns
any as a small mind has a many, the turn of kind into the risk of racing danger
why does Viet Namese charity taste like a crooked dick?
because Isreal is a whore in tradition's sugar and America doesn't know what rock to get off
then that itch, the smell of lotus and the boat to tigger valley junk, here we got sick
on a smile of hell broad enough to live in the since, of beginnings oft love...
just who are we, the need of a militia of Viet Cong, or the dry martini of the Allies
ever slit the throat of a man in the nude, as he showers?
the pace of victory in the west, the total of a life of excess in the name of sally's
think the treachery of sinister men and women, and you have seen the name of powers
curiousity breeds in the shadows, the times are a changing lifes myth
the wash of hands in the way we were, is a calming agent to devour their heed
of a simple wish for clemency, the promise of another heavenly hit
of origins in the care of needless tradition of swindoles and succor's speed
poison's?
that old serpent and his martyr, the withheld life of the prophet
is a rise of the land to a smaller question, is caffeine a chosen sin
that switch of mention and the murder of innocents, is a load of royal, it...
cousin's?
that old rhyme of cyanide from the mere of cleaner's
this is your penny for thought's, if a wink ever comes from the skin
of those in the neglect of rashness of the road to the weiner's
prayer's?
that old milk of human kindness is a lord in the shade of a given life
this mirk of semblances in yours, was a herald of vile cherubs
hey man, they use agent orange there too, like a knife
champion's?
that old devil, the born to lips of mead, has no wish in the skyline's terror
this is the remark of such, to the winner of a pain...
thank you for the cologne to wear
Satan?
the ruse of meanness to a discipline of gall, is alive and thriving
the minute of dread and death is waiting for a better vein of hating
think says the source of miracles and the knock of wishes in the living...
Patience?
so more than the call of duty in the crazy lore of history
the secret to an embarrassed nation came and went, like a bottle aging
for the break of a new day... thunder cooked horses entity
Reason
in the end, it was a month away from the begun, the stoic release of a demon
the point of condition and the cradle of guile that has no season
precise, and with a lemon in toe, it continues, like a religion...
the right side of war
the made bed, the salt in the hug
that skipped breakfast and went off...their rocker
sundry files on poise in the road to dwell like toads and lambs
the first of many roses to be found under the tongue, of raving hunger
the twitch of a light in the east, that has no name except that which damns
any as a small mind has a many, the turn of kind into the risk of racing danger
why does Viet Namese charity taste like a crooked dick?
because Isreal is a whore in tradition's sugar and America doesn't know what rock to get off
then that itch, the smell of lotus and the boat to tigger valley junk, here we got sick
on a smile of hell broad enough to live in the since, of beginnings oft love...
just who are we, the need of a militia of Viet Cong, or the dry martini of the Allies
ever slit the throat of a man in the nude, as he showers?
the pace of victory in the west, the total of a life of excess in the name of sally's
think the treachery of sinister men and women, and you have seen the name of powers
curiousity breeds in the shadows, the times are a changing lifes myth
the wash of hands in the way we were, is a calming agent to devour their heed
of a simple wish for clemency, the promise of another heavenly hit
of origins in the care of needless tradition of swindoles and succor's speed
poison's?
that old serpent and his martyr, the withheld life of the prophet
is a rise of the land to a smaller question, is caffeine a chosen sin
that switch of mention and the murder of innocents, is a load of royal, it...
cousin's?
that old rhyme of cyanide from the mere of cleaner's
this is your penny for thought's, if a wink ever comes from the skin
of those in the neglect of rashness of the road to the weiner's
prayer's?
that old milk of human kindness is a lord in the shade of a given life
this mirk of semblances in yours, was a herald of vile cherubs
hey man, they use agent orange there too, like a knife
champion's?
that old devil, the born to lips of mead, has no wish in the skyline's terror
this is the remark of such, to the winner of a pain...
thank you for the cologne to wear
Satan?
the ruse of meanness to a discipline of gall, is alive and thriving
the minute of dread and death is waiting for a better vein of hating
think says the source of miracles and the knock of wishes in the living...
Patience?
so more than the call of duty in the crazy lore of history
the secret to an embarrassed nation came and went, like a bottle aging
for the break of a new day... thunder cooked horses entity
Reason
in the end, it was a month away from the begun, the stoic release of a demon
the point of condition and the cradle of guile that has no season
precise, and with a lemon in toe, it continues, like a religion...
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Naming Children For Napalmed Cities Still...
Naming Children For Napalmed Cities Still...
