WINE AND GATES
Talking To Death About Trying Time's...?
perhaps
the house that laughs
sincerity, to tight absolution
has an anger to caffeine
ropes in the mirror of solitude
money on the palm of surreal acts
the tarry of unique possible questioned oracle to exude
is this charisma of sanity, have the sense to amend pacts?
sound of a heart, in the distance
the prayer to your fishes island, and the bearing of your head
is this stone to skip, the blind man's...
bed?
the tradition of a cold one, the future for a sultry therefore
in the imagined sulk of hurried nicks of furious lips
to answer the orange juice in your mores...
worth a time piece, the times are a judgmental Hippocrates
fight the air, sour the pear
the magic of resentment is a lover with a daily chore
the panic in an eye of distress, the fame in a lucid heard
chance at flying high, in the taste of curses that came with the war?
stop and smell the roses
with but a signature crushed hand, the final act
is a language with a book of hold, gold, and the art of voices
for you, for the terror of certainty to amen, in the facts...
pretty nothings, nutty prowling's
the purer the terror, the more the muses come to us
the life of candy and the handy stranger of a pace of knowing
the prayers of another kind, found in the eyes of an awkward thus
the house that laughs
sincerity, to tight absolution
has an anger to caffeine
ropes in the mirror of solitude
money on the palm of surreal acts
the tarry of unique possible questioned oracle to exude
is this charisma of sanity, have the sense to amend pacts?
sound of a heart, in the distance
the prayer to your fishes island, and the bearing of your head
is this stone to skip, the blind man's...
bed?
the tradition of a cold one, the future for a sultry therefore
in the imagined sulk of hurried nicks of furious lips
to answer the orange juice in your mores...
worth a time piece, the times are a judgmental Hippocrates
fight the air, sour the pear
the magic of resentment is a lover with a daily chore
the panic in an eye of distress, the fame in a lucid heard
chance at flying high, in the taste of curses that came with the war?
stop and smell the roses
with but a signature crushed hand, the final act
is a language with a book of hold, gold, and the art of voices
for you, for the terror of certainty to amen, in the facts...
pretty nothings, nutty prowling's
the purer the terror, the more the muses come to us
the life of candy and the handy stranger of a pace of knowing
the prayers of another kind, found in the eyes of an awkward thus
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Talking To Death About Trying Time`s...?
Talking To Death About Trying Time`s...?
