WINE AND GATES
The Sun Saved Shame For A Crowed...!
risen with sand to storm
the time is in the window, the luck of a feather
is an angel saving the truth for your need of harm
worth the lips of unction to poised will's of the father
thanks goes to a song from an apple
turns of terror to live by the word
is a livid count of water, your only tale to tell...
the scent of reason is in the wind, ready to be heard
yearning for a looking glass, the house of fright wries
is in the east, the fear of seldom seen sweet eyes
the candor of recognition, is a finger in the slight
the call of secrets is to be seen with a curiosity for what lies
your tooth to challenge the reach of a legend
in the stale relationship with the patience of since
the tear of fruition is with a subtle begin
these roles of virtue show the care of heirs to end
your thoughts are a liberty in the sigh's of another
your throat is a clash of silences that shared the briefness of an egg
your thumb is a passion in the ideas of a lover
your they is a place of sense to confirm the nature of legend
never the same void of chance, we keep a truth in the still of night
we are certain to court the sincerity of religion, for the least of sins
the right to youth is in the dare of a lifetime, to seek the devil by sight
we are the people of liberty anew, the flower you seek is being
rage is a volatile myth, yonder the seriousness of a risen yeast
comprised with a momentum of severity to the nerves of others to give
the share of conscience you deserve, in the belly of causes that cease
is the remnant of sanity to continue, with a place in actuality's heaven...
your guess is a good as mine, the logic of a youth gone to tomorrow
for a sanction of ready ought, in the hands of a regret for the wishes
of a presence for candor anew, the very sorrow of consideration to borrow
your grace for the song of weal in the still of beauty to persuade the soul that asks
the time is in the window, the luck of a feather
is an angel saving the truth for your need of harm
worth the lips of unction to poised will's of the father
thanks goes to a song from an apple
turns of terror to live by the word
is a livid count of water, your only tale to tell...
the scent of reason is in the wind, ready to be heard
yearning for a looking glass, the house of fright wries
is in the east, the fear of seldom seen sweet eyes
the candor of recognition, is a finger in the slight
the call of secrets is to be seen with a curiosity for what lies
your tooth to challenge the reach of a legend
in the stale relationship with the patience of since
the tear of fruition is with a subtle begin
these roles of virtue show the care of heirs to end
your thoughts are a liberty in the sigh's of another
your throat is a clash of silences that shared the briefness of an egg
your thumb is a passion in the ideas of a lover
your they is a place of sense to confirm the nature of legend
never the same void of chance, we keep a truth in the still of night
we are certain to court the sincerity of religion, for the least of sins
the right to youth is in the dare of a lifetime, to seek the devil by sight
we are the people of liberty anew, the flower you seek is being
rage is a volatile myth, yonder the seriousness of a risen yeast
comprised with a momentum of severity to the nerves of others to give
the share of conscience you deserve, in the belly of causes that cease
is the remnant of sanity to continue, with a place in actuality's heaven...
your guess is a good as mine, the logic of a youth gone to tomorrow
for a sanction of ready ought, in the hands of a regret for the wishes
of a presence for candor anew, the very sorrow of consideration to borrow
your grace for the song of weal in the still of beauty to persuade the soul that asks
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The Sun Saved Shame For A Crowed...!
The Sun Saved Shame For A Crowed...!
