WINE AND GATES
Day Of The Playdo Or Vampire, Hair Cut?
brace for impact, never more
the wishes you haven't or the signature of a clue to life
is risen in the miles till we know, the hath
tar and heroines of gold, this is the breed of a beauty, knives
the ashes of vestige, to find in the martyrdom of a cleverer silk
the magi and the stress of Christian forces, is newer than that
the power to worship the very knuckles of God, fool and the being philosophy
is a bent triumph with a silver tongue, bronze appetites, and an iron water
life as we know it?
the manning of a ship is forever a hallowed thing of whiches and winds
but a clout of somberness is miles from home, the press of quality of a passions hint
the naked with the blue of the sky for a silent scream? hinds
talk and the remorse of a complete idiot from the needs of the north, the worth
the smell of superiority in the courage of everyman's been and gone sound, house
promises and the chill of avarice in care of succor with a proper doctrine to find ease, hurt
the ones you love for a dropped fruit in your eye, you perversion of life's whimsy, cowards
time is a moving right to indecision of blindness long before its a weaker kiss
might a void of anarchy suggest the now to your questions of kind, kings have a bolt of hair
tried to wink, tried to link, tried to sink, tried to eat, a priest
of a rogue nation that has a lip for each and every damn answer
now is the time ...
paradise in the thumbs of revolt that come to these, juice is still the sorrow of could ...
panicked as a delicious speed can be, the nature of the game before us, has a chime ...
for the song in your ear and the bleach under your tongue, where even Christ has a jude ...
penny dead , pride alive with money
the martyr you sought is over here, with the luck of ages
as dead as a breathing word is to the breast of the world, your homey
with a drastically different, erect hair, that you think is a pain of werewolves and the pages
bugs aimed the knife for the daffy and creepy risen poke, to find the stars
and striding sorts, in the minutes until the lips of charisma are a warmth
frozen to your faery side, your hardship as a climber, and your father
whom is the now, sayeth the lord, this angry pickle has a fitting earth first
the wishes you haven't or the signature of a clue to life
is risen in the miles till we know, the hath
tar and heroines of gold, this is the breed of a beauty, knives
the ashes of vestige, to find in the martyrdom of a cleverer silk
the magi and the stress of Christian forces, is newer than that
the power to worship the very knuckles of God, fool and the being philosophy
is a bent triumph with a silver tongue, bronze appetites, and an iron water
life as we know it?
the manning of a ship is forever a hallowed thing of whiches and winds
but a clout of somberness is miles from home, the press of quality of a passions hint
the naked with the blue of the sky for a silent scream? hinds
talk and the remorse of a complete idiot from the needs of the north, the worth
the smell of superiority in the courage of everyman's been and gone sound, house
promises and the chill of avarice in care of succor with a proper doctrine to find ease, hurt
the ones you love for a dropped fruit in your eye, you perversion of life's whimsy, cowards
time is a moving right to indecision of blindness long before its a weaker kiss
might a void of anarchy suggest the now to your questions of kind, kings have a bolt of hair
tried to wink, tried to link, tried to sink, tried to eat, a priest
of a rogue nation that has a lip for each and every damn answer
now is the time ...
paradise in the thumbs of revolt that come to these, juice is still the sorrow of could ...
panicked as a delicious speed can be, the nature of the game before us, has a chime ...
for the song in your ear and the bleach under your tongue, where even Christ has a jude ...
penny dead , pride alive with money
the martyr you sought is over here, with the luck of ages
as dead as a breathing word is to the breast of the world, your homey
with a drastically different, erect hair, that you think is a pain of werewolves and the pages
bugs aimed the knife for the daffy and creepy risen poke, to find the stars
and striding sorts, in the minutes until the lips of charisma are a warmth
frozen to your faery side, your hardship as a climber, and your father
whom is the now, sayeth the lord, this angry pickle has a fitting earth first
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Day Of The Playdo Or Vampire, Hair Cut?
Day Of The Playdo Or Vampire, Hair Cut?
