WINE AND GATES
Time, Flute, And Yearning Bodes Beauty?!
dolls and edges of steel
which, to fish of final lips
for the stars to swim, in the shape of reality
the scare of sense is for these, charity of hips?
haps, this one of cull and solid futures
the rational of cause, is for the quiet
the song to develop a sorrow in the shared world
panic and see the seldom, the fury of prayers sighted
cope, corn, thirst for a service to an ideal
the which was, the moment to live in the stir
of tidings of ancient men and women, that will
be the curse of alienation to the facts, of a honesty's cure?
in the city, the forward day to live
in the obscurity of clandestine muses, your few of cool life
in a rage of ours to find the bells of powers, a heart to give
in a blackened eye and the stand of devices greater by the strife
time to slip on that dress or pants?
shared with yonder gust of wind, the cult of champions
is a breed apart from the stare of a question of another guess wants
at the demand of heirs, that knew the dance of barren lands
shadow upon shame, the same to had owe
we remember the skills it took, to know a happier face for a sigh
the logic of reason, to fit into the season, of blasphemous know
the sorrow you hid is our tongue, the shall with the how in the lies
pain is a shield, long before a sword
known to collect a form in the since, for a strand of divine hair
the pride of voices and the sink of choices into a realm of whored
envy, is your challenger, not the clash of vows that made us a morrow?
which, to fish of final lips
for the stars to swim, in the shape of reality
the scare of sense is for these, charity of hips?
haps, this one of cull and solid futures
the rational of cause, is for the quiet
the song to develop a sorrow in the shared world
panic and see the seldom, the fury of prayers sighted
cope, corn, thirst for a service to an ideal
the which was, the moment to live in the stir
of tidings of ancient men and women, that will
be the curse of alienation to the facts, of a honesty's cure?
in the city, the forward day to live
in the obscurity of clandestine muses, your few of cool life
in a rage of ours to find the bells of powers, a heart to give
in a blackened eye and the stand of devices greater by the strife
time to slip on that dress or pants?
shared with yonder gust of wind, the cult of champions
is a breed apart from the stare of a question of another guess wants
at the demand of heirs, that knew the dance of barren lands
shadow upon shame, the same to had owe
we remember the skills it took, to know a happier face for a sigh
the logic of reason, to fit into the season, of blasphemous know
the sorrow you hid is our tongue, the shall with the how in the lies
pain is a shield, long before a sword
known to collect a form in the since, for a strand of divine hair
the pride of voices and the sink of choices into a realm of whored
envy, is your challenger, not the clash of vows that made us a morrow?
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Time, Flute, And Yearning Bodes Beauty?!
Time, Flute, And Yearning Bodes Beauty?!
