WINE AND GATES
Paced For Says, "The Victim's Of Limit's"
afraid of the knots
of many ages with a solution in heard
ways of summation to choose, to feed
in the prayers of courage and the lucre of a bird
strange visitors
with ships of steel and possible gold for hearts
in the way, of paradise and the act of curiosity
where the life of yonder more of since, is a question that starts
lips of penny's of further sense
the touch of a hand that knows the fury of could
oft the fire of secluded muses in the reach of suspense
with a furious cunning of sound, the patience of sugar
worth your means to an end, the bother of a friend
is a lucky coin, to pick up for the tarter of heads
in the chances and the instances of open hearted kin
the problems of the world, to find for a fish, and a bread
where have we been, the teeth of chaos via sin
why have we thought life so delicious, the tell tale mark of hurry
when is the soul suppose to be a calling to arms, the play of whiches in the wind
would you keep a key against my throat, my mind a lock for the spite of war?
the sound of mud and the curse of guideless metal
in between the toes of simplicity, to find for the gifts of surreality
is this portion of peace, a dying flower, petal for petal
with a chance for future season, the very taste of insanity?
of many ages with a solution in heard
ways of summation to choose, to feed
in the prayers of courage and the lucre of a bird
strange visitors
with ships of steel and possible gold for hearts
in the way, of paradise and the act of curiosity
where the life of yonder more of since, is a question that starts
lips of penny's of further sense
the touch of a hand that knows the fury of could
oft the fire of secluded muses in the reach of suspense
with a furious cunning of sound, the patience of sugar
worth your means to an end, the bother of a friend
is a lucky coin, to pick up for the tarter of heads
in the chances and the instances of open hearted kin
the problems of the world, to find for a fish, and a bread
where have we been, the teeth of chaos via sin
why have we thought life so delicious, the tell tale mark of hurry
when is the soul suppose to be a calling to arms, the play of whiches in the wind
would you keep a key against my throat, my mind a lock for the spite of war?
the sound of mud and the curse of guideless metal
in between the toes of simplicity, to find for the gifts of surreality
is this portion of peace, a dying flower, petal for petal
with a chance for future season, the very taste of insanity?
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Paced For Says, `The Victim`s Of Limit`s`
Paced For Says, `The Victim`s Of Limit`s`
