WINE AND GATES
Getting Help From The Ascertained Worth
did this song?
pardon my English, but is this skipped...
thought a better worth, in the being of many among
the panic of a sultry service to an ideal slipped...
counts of vantage in the taste of new days
the war with seclusion of honor that haunts...
isn't the terror you sought, the brace of hurry, the spite of any
compared to love, you are the space of yet nothing which cant
dead to rights, with a penny to throw
thinking a blink of conscience, a stare with a stones name
the poise of continued time, for the loved earn of owe
the salt in your veins, was this song here to tame?
Noah and the bridge of panic in the distance
worth now, the semblance of how for a sensation
of courage and the haste it took to avoid a blind chance?
on the patience of all to form a clue, oft the place of religion
here at last
the knowledge of kinds in our seem, our lap
never to seek, the rash for a pace of older hands worthy, past
the future in graces of silent knowing, for a tender lip to tap
a kind stand of sense, for the passage of time
in the needs of our patience's and the star of reasons
accrued for a thought, better than from where we have come, the rhyme
of a lifetime, does this fair eye suggest the miracle of seasons?
pardon my English, but is this skipped...
thought a better worth, in the being of many among
the panic of a sultry service to an ideal slipped...
counts of vantage in the taste of new days
the war with seclusion of honor that haunts...
isn't the terror you sought, the brace of hurry, the spite of any
compared to love, you are the space of yet nothing which cant
dead to rights, with a penny to throw
thinking a blink of conscience, a stare with a stones name
the poise of continued time, for the loved earn of owe
the salt in your veins, was this song here to tame?
Noah and the bridge of panic in the distance
worth now, the semblance of how for a sensation
of courage and the haste it took to avoid a blind chance?
on the patience of all to form a clue, oft the place of religion
here at last
the knowledge of kinds in our seem, our lap
never to seek, the rash for a pace of older hands worthy, past
the future in graces of silent knowing, for a tender lip to tap
a kind stand of sense, for the passage of time
in the needs of our patience's and the star of reasons
accrued for a thought, better than from where we have come, the rhyme
of a lifetime, does this fair eye suggest the miracle of seasons?
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Getting Help From The Ascertained Worth
Getting Help From The Ascertained Worth
