WINE AND GATES
Scaring A Cola Here Irony, And Coughing...
spires of dread
time in the haste of a burden's fury
in the eyes of your head
the beckoning truth on the second hurry
were we the tamed lion in the knock of yesterday?
today is a wager, with the devil
in the tradition of past virtue, a may
for semblance of seldom, the violence of coal
the tomorrow of your needy dreams
in the hand of an enigma, the turn of courage's worth
into wisdom, where we have selected powers whims
for the sentience of treason, says the question of birth?
eggs and pauper's thumbs
with a reach for baby's breath
the lucre of a knowing mind has come full cycle, the right hums
when has when, been the licks of fire we call death?
by the way, where is your hand?
in the end of the beginning, the life of another
was a head to itch, the finish of mercy for a placated sand
the mention of method, is yours wivery for the patience to bother?
mean as dirt?
thought a punk on the ashes of farther salt?
taken for a pill in the lips of world's?
knowing the stink of sugar for a work of fault?
yearning, where the sate of likes warming
for the tooth of candor and the running jest
is a world to finish, in the eye of a force burning
for the city of iron, that has the race of justice, blessed
yearing, in the eyes of a loved one
the right to wished for time, in the hands of a greater cause
the pitch of wood, the witch of a pone
is your eye so blind, that do you not see the fate of ...
time in the haste of a burden's fury
in the eyes of your head
the beckoning truth on the second hurry
were we the tamed lion in the knock of yesterday?
today is a wager, with the devil
in the tradition of past virtue, a may
for semblance of seldom, the violence of coal
the tomorrow of your needy dreams
in the hand of an enigma, the turn of courage's worth
into wisdom, where we have selected powers whims
for the sentience of treason, says the question of birth?
eggs and pauper's thumbs
with a reach for baby's breath
the lucre of a knowing mind has come full cycle, the right hums
when has when, been the licks of fire we call death?
by the way, where is your hand?
in the end of the beginning, the life of another
was a head to itch, the finish of mercy for a placated sand
the mention of method, is yours wivery for the patience to bother?
mean as dirt?
thought a punk on the ashes of farther salt?
taken for a pill in the lips of world's?
knowing the stink of sugar for a work of fault?
yearning, where the sate of likes warming
for the tooth of candor and the running jest
is a world to finish, in the eye of a force burning
for the city of iron, that has the race of justice, blessed
yearing, in the eyes of a loved one
the right to wished for time, in the hands of a greater cause
the pitch of wood, the witch of a pone
is your eye so blind, that do you not see the fate of ...
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Scaring A Cola Here Irony, And Coughing...
Scaring A Cola Here Irony, And Coughing...
