WINE AND GATES
Suppose An Astronaut Comes To Dinner
penny for your hop
strange twists of euphemism, in a tawdry hand
the life of a sublime coercion to stop
for a muse in the sides of notoriety, the fiction of a land?
why did you doubt?
the lover's of heed, in the space of pace of commotion
is a waiting skip of total's of reason, via losses
of liberty in the cadence of a tryst of verve to show, skin
the road to some place different
the tarry of water in the cough of the mind and the sight of hatred
alive, with a defiance for the asking, of the direction of relent
the taste of harrowing of the nature of just, kindness to be said...
wall of concern, via fury we'll know it all
morose and vague, the pride of a voiced silence
in the tart heiring of boats of unique ways to fall...
the pound of a subtle heart in the distance, or is that a misery's chance?
been with a stone, milk for the bridge of my soul
the waiting solution of violence, in the eaves of destitution
we know the turn of emotion, like a shielding of confusion of old...
the persuasion of method is our livid must and hips of imagination
angry people, in the way of a huge marvel of devices and machines
the thought of eternity revolves around us, in a harmony of sincerity
horror of a lost mind of the trying as suddenness that showed us it's madness
of a curiosity for visions of violence, the pyre of a soldier has become an authority
and the prophet of sense, since the pence come, the fatness of a land with two names
think, says the soldier, for a wine of bearing and the travail of sides
the possibility of love is overwhelming, the penny of suggestion is all and seasoned same
worth your caste as a heed is a language onto it, the thought even poised wry...
thank, says the prophet, a work of semblances of futures of witnessing the presumption of can
in the innermost sanity we hold to dear, the fairness of courage for a part
of lore of the solemn earn of causes, greater for the levity of a human plan
these perfect souls in the may of the times, know the way of kindness to start?
is this island of time, the function of a callous promise?
the taste in flowers of chance, is a legend of coltish men and avaricial women
accounted the swallow of unity, the more we deem a land for this
the more the naked truth comes, this is the season of love's acumen
strange twists of euphemism, in a tawdry hand
the life of a sublime coercion to stop
for a muse in the sides of notoriety, the fiction of a land?
why did you doubt?
the lover's of heed, in the space of pace of commotion
is a waiting skip of total's of reason, via losses
of liberty in the cadence of a tryst of verve to show, skin
the road to some place different
the tarry of water in the cough of the mind and the sight of hatred
alive, with a defiance for the asking, of the direction of relent
the taste of harrowing of the nature of just, kindness to be said...
wall of concern, via fury we'll know it all
morose and vague, the pride of a voiced silence
in the tart heiring of boats of unique ways to fall...
the pound of a subtle heart in the distance, or is that a misery's chance?
been with a stone, milk for the bridge of my soul
the waiting solution of violence, in the eaves of destitution
we know the turn of emotion, like a shielding of confusion of old...
the persuasion of method is our livid must and hips of imagination
angry people, in the way of a huge marvel of devices and machines
the thought of eternity revolves around us, in a harmony of sincerity
horror of a lost mind of the trying as suddenness that showed us it's madness
of a curiosity for visions of violence, the pyre of a soldier has become an authority
and the prophet of sense, since the pence come, the fatness of a land with two names
think, says the soldier, for a wine of bearing and the travail of sides
the possibility of love is overwhelming, the penny of suggestion is all and seasoned same
worth your caste as a heed is a language onto it, the thought even poised wry...
thank, says the prophet, a work of semblances of futures of witnessing the presumption of can
in the innermost sanity we hold to dear, the fairness of courage for a part
of lore of the solemn earn of causes, greater for the levity of a human plan
these perfect souls in the may of the times, know the way of kindness to start?
is this island of time, the function of a callous promise?
the taste in flowers of chance, is a legend of coltish men and avaricial women
accounted the swallow of unity, the more we deem a land for this
the more the naked truth comes, this is the season of love's acumen
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Suppose An Astronaut Comes To Dinner
Suppose An Astronaut Comes To Dinner
