WINE AND GATES
Pinches That Rhyme Timidly, Eak Out Future...
chuck in the river
made himself a flag from history
this fin, if not wind is for prayer
the curt way we delve into a sunny...
is a fish your best friend, for a doting wood?
thin to begin, races of this nature, show good
been with a driven cloud, the stars remind its evil, to lewd
the martyr of common acid, is your friend now a rued...
pies that protect a lye
your gift of honey, is forn to warn the polite...
in the shroud of dissuasion that is us, a peace to sigh
your belly is a muscle made to confirm a contrite...?
your mystery, my defloration; a salt and a wound to decorate with him
future songs, that love to see to a brine, for the kind of spate soul
in the direction of seasons and the weal of vision to come to women
of a brides sock in the farm, the loaf of bread for a soap on the dole
lips, you toad junky
not the treasure in the back of the climbing wind
that showed you a turn of chin into a brass funky
click, burn, blister and peal, and enter again
that fox said to the goose one dream
in this steamy drawl and final lint for paradise
is this candid wealth of risen ash of sincere cream
the butt of a joke that would with a child's?
here is a hair
there is a shadow
where is a fair
nary is a sad honor
try the greens, if not the cousin of need...
in the scurrilous tale of surprise and the ache of a mute
stutterer with a potent keep
of sandstone, that has the sense to give catsup to a fruit
why is this wrist the tone of a new cricket
the stir of home and the annul of low and down out nights, show rights
of usage of guile for a marriage, to save a hair in the locket...
your presence is required for a lurid thumb in the lights
cry
and see to a wish on the east of the wind
your shame for a calling sense to release a blinding...
ask a patient gaiety the role of savior with a mission to a sublime...
made himself a flag from history
this fin, if not wind is for prayer
the curt way we delve into a sunny...
is a fish your best friend, for a doting wood?
thin to begin, races of this nature, show good
been with a driven cloud, the stars remind its evil, to lewd
the martyr of common acid, is your friend now a rued...
pies that protect a lye
your gift of honey, is forn to warn the polite...
in the shroud of dissuasion that is us, a peace to sigh
your belly is a muscle made to confirm a contrite...?
your mystery, my defloration; a salt and a wound to decorate with him
future songs, that love to see to a brine, for the kind of spate soul
in the direction of seasons and the weal of vision to come to women
of a brides sock in the farm, the loaf of bread for a soap on the dole
lips, you toad junky
not the treasure in the back of the climbing wind
that showed you a turn of chin into a brass funky
click, burn, blister and peal, and enter again
that fox said to the goose one dream
in this steamy drawl and final lint for paradise
is this candid wealth of risen ash of sincere cream
the butt of a joke that would with a child's?
here is a hair
there is a shadow
where is a fair
nary is a sad honor
try the greens, if not the cousin of need...
in the scurrilous tale of surprise and the ache of a mute
stutterer with a potent keep
of sandstone, that has the sense to give catsup to a fruit
why is this wrist the tone of a new cricket
the stir of home and the annul of low and down out nights, show rights
of usage of guile for a marriage, to save a hair in the locket...
your presence is required for a lurid thumb in the lights
cry
and see to a wish on the east of the wind
your shame for a calling sense to release a blinding...
ask a patient gaiety the role of savior with a mission to a sublime...
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Pinches That Rhyme Timidly, Eak Out Future...
Pinches That Rhyme Timidly, Eak Out Future...
