WINE AND GATES
Dining On A Table Of Revenge Is Whatchin...?
dates with a night
found amid the knuckles of a church
your teeth, your hair, your cloth for might
the staleness of whispers and the act of denunciation or worse
sugary, the repose of a friend in the stir
of still kind and the aching of a summating sphere
the price of gestures of doom... some where
other than soul, we play the part of a question to hear
point is poor, point upon joint
the walls of reason in your view, to calm a passion
for the method of sense, to a brine to sort
the chaffed and hidden dole, of a secret in the wind
the matter at hand, for us to believe
the waiting of guidance in the sting of choice, that is a remembering God
is a lover of salty exception your chance, at a measure of heaven
tart and sweeter, the notion of distances to the savior of a light to nod...
in time with a bloody eye
that kept our stars, the moment to omens of business as usual
lent if not lint, of cults and besmirched authority of a paltry live
of sense and method to kind, the charity of a wheel, that has a voice in the rule
bastards and breath to bitch
the courage you seek is a shred of cope, in the stare of when the world was young
to find, as a weaker speck of dust would, the name of sanity is for the rich
in the skip of jests we make for a place in the sun, you are a hero among
hell, in the blessing of an eyefall on the story to come
the rathering not with its vinegary vengeance, is but a slapped face
ready to know the count of shells and the bells of decision in the mouth of some
that old devil of angels and the neglected sin, of callous seeds in the praise...
jackets in their health
wandering for the sundering, of a babe that has a lip
on the style and the fathering of a hall of little
more than a shadow of ritual and the salt of an exception, of a new stipend...
truth
is and isn't a river's fury in the stir of requiem for a mystery
the tooth of anguish we know, for a head above the clarity of a poetry of rueth
the tones of a burden for yonder island of jade and the shadow of history...
found amid the knuckles of a church
your teeth, your hair, your cloth for might
the staleness of whispers and the act of denunciation or worse
sugary, the repose of a friend in the stir
of still kind and the aching of a summating sphere
the price of gestures of doom... some where
other than soul, we play the part of a question to hear
point is poor, point upon joint
the walls of reason in your view, to calm a passion
for the method of sense, to a brine to sort
the chaffed and hidden dole, of a secret in the wind
the matter at hand, for us to believe
the waiting of guidance in the sting of choice, that is a remembering God
is a lover of salty exception your chance, at a measure of heaven
tart and sweeter, the notion of distances to the savior of a light to nod...
in time with a bloody eye
that kept our stars, the moment to omens of business as usual
lent if not lint, of cults and besmirched authority of a paltry live
of sense and method to kind, the charity of a wheel, that has a voice in the rule
bastards and breath to bitch
the courage you seek is a shred of cope, in the stare of when the world was young
to find, as a weaker speck of dust would, the name of sanity is for the rich
in the skip of jests we make for a place in the sun, you are a hero among
hell, in the blessing of an eyefall on the story to come
the rathering not with its vinegary vengeance, is but a slapped face
ready to know the count of shells and the bells of decision in the mouth of some
that old devil of angels and the neglected sin, of callous seeds in the praise...
jackets in their health
wandering for the sundering, of a babe that has a lip
on the style and the fathering of a hall of little
more than a shadow of ritual and the salt of an exception, of a new stipend...
truth
is and isn't a river's fury in the stir of requiem for a mystery
the tooth of anguish we know, for a head above the clarity of a poetry of rueth
the tones of a burden for yonder island of jade and the shadow of history...
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Dining On A Table Of Revenge Is Whatchin...?
Dining On A Table Of Revenge Is Whatchin...?
