WINE AND GATES
The Art Of Agony With A Bit More Mustard
two of a kind
kings under your nose, for a life in the flow
and ebb of reality to form, the method of a hind
beginning with this eye, the sated north of a here to know
gloom and the silk of an ear...
risks of joint till joy is a grace in the slight of weird
the grace to know a crass before the clash of the many to error
the craving of silence in your face, where even a hair is for seeing the mirror
candy to find, in your play of blindness
the night to worship for a salt, the stink of an unearthed clue
in the severity of a choice to form, the lips of hate to guest
the morals of a world found with a smile to eat, its heart out, do
the focus of an eye framed with one more kiss, the quiet of reality
found in the cold stars themselves, for a logic known no two ways twice
young wars with a frown in the hand, know to liberate a shadow from the selectivity
prayer in a nut shell, the music of the stares was not enough, it was a spice
banal, lethargic, found to be mucus, in the love
risen to task for a quainter richness of the cream of the curious flames
that we know are the come, of a sensitivity to the thunder of an our, does
is this broken mind your next victory or is a lover of sin the truth in names
murder, by any other nakedness
the lord of wretchedness to complete the fury of a song in the more of our soul
this breath of circumstance, is a reach for the nature of a kissed one to molest
eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, brazen orders of the neglect of wills, is aging fully
kings under your nose, for a life in the flow
and ebb of reality to form, the method of a hind
beginning with this eye, the sated north of a here to know
gloom and the silk of an ear...
risks of joint till joy is a grace in the slight of weird
the grace to know a crass before the clash of the many to error
the craving of silence in your face, where even a hair is for seeing the mirror
candy to find, in your play of blindness
the night to worship for a salt, the stink of an unearthed clue
in the severity of a choice to form, the lips of hate to guest
the morals of a world found with a smile to eat, its heart out, do
the focus of an eye framed with one more kiss, the quiet of reality
found in the cold stars themselves, for a logic known no two ways twice
young wars with a frown in the hand, know to liberate a shadow from the selectivity
prayer in a nut shell, the music of the stares was not enough, it was a spice
banal, lethargic, found to be mucus, in the love
risen to task for a quainter richness of the cream of the curious flames
that we know are the come, of a sensitivity to the thunder of an our, does
is this broken mind your next victory or is a lover of sin the truth in names
murder, by any other nakedness
the lord of wretchedness to complete the fury of a song in the more of our soul
this breath of circumstance, is a reach for the nature of a kissed one to molest
eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, brazen orders of the neglect of wills, is aging fully
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The Art Of Agony With A Bit More Mustard
The Art Of Agony With A Bit More Mustard
