WINE AND GATES
Big Enough To Simplify All's Tradition Smokes
like you Mister year...
in the sincerity of clarified need
is this conscience of dilemma, near
to the source of a cancerous, heed
pills and vinegar, ice cream...?
your kiss is in the tight, taut for a nourished edge of a done...
in the sour craving, of souls for a lip to stream
the taters and the maters will be a secret, the thief of none
a beat eye, the whether of collusion the kindness in the freedom of time
this is the moment to invent fire, the skill of a rational acid come to season
thinking but a lover, the house of ginger and clover, is a milestone of lime
to know a bright future in the saint and paint of a golden reason...
cake or a message to jade...
the lovers in the care, still a frustrated mission to find the view
of a salt in history, your eyes, the care of Christmas, if not the made
of a wing, this is your chance, at deafening the kindred of breath, or a wood
which brings us to this, the tarter the tongue...
in myriad kisses and the itch of essence for a lair, of sand
isn't the bride of vicinity and the argument of honor to cling, clung
to the chances of a cloud to visit, the briefness of a parting land
potent, the nature of a side of mirth, you son of a bitch...
beans, the terror of alcohol in the sense of a lion of vows
the role of condition is still the cut, of a road that does wish
upon you, when the martyrs of clashes know the silence of a tree, all in a row...
raging, a fire with a comment to the knee, is your color the silly invest of a climb
this is your imagination in a callous prayer to cunning, the future of sex
is for the stand of lore in the first place, the wall of simplicity, your rhyme
shame is a plowed field long before you saw, the shadow of a kiss on your neck
pain is never a bird...
prayer is always a hat, with the sense to deliver a new day...
pride is going to deem the nature of condition for a smell, that is the worth occurred...
and to a point, drifting in the wind, your kisses are made from a suit made from any...
who, the dread in the mirror, of your silent knuckle on its way to the ridden mystery
do, the skip of generations in your lap, if not laugh or shared call to a cave
those, are a likeable tongue on its way to shading the pining and the knees of isn't
the court of a king the place of patience, that has a road in mind for each world's save...
purple and blue, the thief was history's you
pies and the muse you chew, for a stomach in the riches
of conscience and the ache of a completed glory of could
this country, this liberty, this fruit in the stitches...
in the sincerity of clarified need
is this conscience of dilemma, near
to the source of a cancerous, heed
pills and vinegar, ice cream...?
your kiss is in the tight, taut for a nourished edge of a done...
in the sour craving, of souls for a lip to stream
the taters and the maters will be a secret, the thief of none
a beat eye, the whether of collusion the kindness in the freedom of time
this is the moment to invent fire, the skill of a rational acid come to season
thinking but a lover, the house of ginger and clover, is a milestone of lime
to know a bright future in the saint and paint of a golden reason...
cake or a message to jade...
the lovers in the care, still a frustrated mission to find the view
of a salt in history, your eyes, the care of Christmas, if not the made
of a wing, this is your chance, at deafening the kindred of breath, or a wood
which brings us to this, the tarter the tongue...
in myriad kisses and the itch of essence for a lair, of sand
isn't the bride of vicinity and the argument of honor to cling, clung
to the chances of a cloud to visit, the briefness of a parting land
potent, the nature of a side of mirth, you son of a bitch...
beans, the terror of alcohol in the sense of a lion of vows
the role of condition is still the cut, of a road that does wish
upon you, when the martyrs of clashes know the silence of a tree, all in a row...
raging, a fire with a comment to the knee, is your color the silly invest of a climb
this is your imagination in a callous prayer to cunning, the future of sex
is for the stand of lore in the first place, the wall of simplicity, your rhyme
shame is a plowed field long before you saw, the shadow of a kiss on your neck
pain is never a bird...
prayer is always a hat, with the sense to deliver a new day...
pride is going to deem the nature of condition for a smell, that is the worth occurred...
and to a point, drifting in the wind, your kisses are made from a suit made from any...
who, the dread in the mirror, of your silent knuckle on its way to the ridden mystery
do, the skip of generations in your lap, if not laugh or shared call to a cave
those, are a likeable tongue on its way to shading the pining and the knees of isn't
the court of a king the place of patience, that has a road in mind for each world's save...
purple and blue, the thief was history's you
pies and the muse you chew, for a stomach in the riches
of conscience and the ache of a completed glory of could
this country, this liberty, this fruit in the stitches...
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Big Enough To Simplify All`s Tradition Smokes
Big Enough To Simplify All`s Tradition Smokes
