WINE AND GATES
Present Intution Say Couth Except Sent, Eyefull
blades, if you can catch them
serious if forlorn, the smell of a suicidal god
asking the thunder if your a lip in the whim
forks in the road, might to mystery, isn't requiem the advance of a nod
this is thrilling, this is tilling
the work of a damned thumb, these presence's
is weak tea a fright, the toil of the bell is stilling
that old well of brazen gifts, the lemon and the fences
took
the thought to win, the myth of aiding the court
of a problematic king, the since in the bastion to worth, look
wolves and a new work full of promise, to kiss in the rain, sorts
time to tell...
the naked also in your ear, the mission of possibility beyond a sound
lucre and the shake of seasons for a ball
of cloth via song, to know for a place and the caress of loved, wound
neater, to feature the signs of the times
we are the milestones in heaven, for a single purpose
thrilled anew, tilling who with prestige and whines
we are but a collected stare of need, in the youth of holds
of tongue, the nicer of two
the twines of condition and the maker of noxious more, the smoke of secrets
the our of stone and the wear with oil, meter of new
confused yet?, limits
they dole, for a fresher side of myriad sign's of curiosity in the watch
into a resplendent siring of cold ideas for the rest of the story
their trouble, in the smiles of which and the mother of winks, is simply fashions
of causes known for a liberty, the toll of a verifying whole of a worry
which stabbed a bright mind, with an onus in the first, merit second
and a face in the third, time is a busy bird with a moment for each
frugal or signaled with a christened similarity to find, the home of reckon
is with us as a might is, the mention of a knowledge in the stars, of a reach...
serious if forlorn, the smell of a suicidal god
asking the thunder if your a lip in the whim
forks in the road, might to mystery, isn't requiem the advance of a nod
this is thrilling, this is tilling
the work of a damned thumb, these presence's
is weak tea a fright, the toil of the bell is stilling
that old well of brazen gifts, the lemon and the fences
took
the thought to win, the myth of aiding the court
of a problematic king, the since in the bastion to worth, look
wolves and a new work full of promise, to kiss in the rain, sorts
time to tell...
the naked also in your ear, the mission of possibility beyond a sound
lucre and the shake of seasons for a ball
of cloth via song, to know for a place and the caress of loved, wound
neater, to feature the signs of the times
we are the milestones in heaven, for a single purpose
thrilled anew, tilling who with prestige and whines
we are but a collected stare of need, in the youth of holds
of tongue, the nicer of two
the twines of condition and the maker of noxious more, the smoke of secrets
the our of stone and the wear with oil, meter of new
confused yet?, limits
they dole, for a fresher side of myriad sign's of curiosity in the watch
into a resplendent siring of cold ideas for the rest of the story
their trouble, in the smiles of which and the mother of winks, is simply fashions
of causes known for a liberty, the toll of a verifying whole of a worry
which stabbed a bright mind, with an onus in the first, merit second
and a face in the third, time is a busy bird with a moment for each
frugal or signaled with a christened similarity to find, the home of reckon
is with us as a might is, the mention of a knowledge in the stars, of a reach...
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Present Intution Say Couth Except Sent, Eyefull
Present Intution Say Couth Except Sent, Eyefull
