WINE AND GATES
In The Pink, Alluded To With Doles, Being Ink
blue, to offer blunder
the scourge of green in our midst's
the tale of brown brief enough to live by the nose of thunder
where have the ships of conscience been, the tired eyes to list...
thought, to be the make of a new here
the feet of kind and the ache of bridges in the west
has our tooth of alienation been so sound, we hear?
the culture of significance for a prayer that never blessed...?
the times, the furor over the skip of generosity
these days of lips and the exaction of spry things
to know for a said how in the poise that made us, a lauded entity
couldn't the mire of foremost wonder ever be the build of eaching's?
why do we denye it, the flames of indignant repose, for a soul of humanity
in these hands, an eye worth its stare, is still the bell of ought
isn't and the grisly are of sordid life for a question in the sight of duality
for a frosty change if not mirth of when the wind has a happier name for sought
patience, vertigo
bold though the immediate lift of can do spirit has, the wishes of memory
are with a driven need to deliver the sign of destitution to nerves, seldom and low
for a christened ship anew, the stark nature of thine, to see to a worth in history
past the tears of the world?
an enemy with a navel in his eye, is a church burned toward the least, of thoughts
for the decency of ease in the capture of suddenness in the belly of the wind, early
by all counts of how and its haunt of succor, the rage of winks and the thinks of lots
the scourge of green in our midst's
the tale of brown brief enough to live by the nose of thunder
where have the ships of conscience been, the tired eyes to list...
thought, to be the make of a new here
the feet of kind and the ache of bridges in the west
has our tooth of alienation been so sound, we hear?
the culture of significance for a prayer that never blessed...?
the times, the furor over the skip of generosity
these days of lips and the exaction of spry things
to know for a said how in the poise that made us, a lauded entity
couldn't the mire of foremost wonder ever be the build of eaching's?
why do we denye it, the flames of indignant repose, for a soul of humanity
in these hands, an eye worth its stare, is still the bell of ought
isn't and the grisly are of sordid life for a question in the sight of duality
for a frosty change if not mirth of when the wind has a happier name for sought
patience, vertigo
bold though the immediate lift of can do spirit has, the wishes of memory
are with a driven need to deliver the sign of destitution to nerves, seldom and low
for a christened ship anew, the stark nature of thine, to see to a worth in history
past the tears of the world?
an enemy with a navel in his eye, is a church burned toward the least, of thoughts
for the decency of ease in the capture of suddenness in the belly of the wind, early
by all counts of how and its haunt of succor, the rage of winks and the thinks of lots
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In The Pink, Alluded To With Doles, Being Ink
In The Pink, Alluded To With Doles, Being Ink
