WINE AND GATES
Judas And Coarse Known, Cried On Lips Done Sour?
time, trying the times
the waking ordeal of sincerity, in my hands for the night
whiches and the stitches in time, that matter and know lives
till or thine will, this excuse for angry sigh's might
shame, done away in a blaze of words
the acumen of salt in my vains, the mar and the mirth to atone
in a pinch of soul to quiet the babes of the mourning the wind heard
close close little many, the song of mercy comes for those that owe
lips of driven snow, the sanity of questions to the cares
of a sordid mess, the art with the honor of a conscience smart
in the myriad orchestrations to fend, the tender and eyed where
of solutions in the vows we keep, for a show of any and all to start
the kindred
of sense, to answer the courage's of youths and the martyring of the old
with but a patient form to better here, the onus of shame to lead
we know you for a succor in few, to liberate itself from the lovers in the fold
the daydream
of sheer totals of call and half, of travail told, for the chemistry of need
in rages of hours to fit into the miles for a sweeter weal, this irony is lean
paced with a cold stare of chastity in future height's, we collect the seed
the effluency
foremost to host a virtue in sounder praise sought
the come of such in turns for the rest of immediacy
in an indignant smoke of chance and the strangeness of seasons for not
the actuality
of sight in the myth of compromise and the adoration of might, for a certainty
to comply with a taller order of somber news, the waft of facts and compunction shall
sit right under your nose, the carer with the berievement of trust from a nose tender
the cope
where the similarity to confirm is a hap in love with mine, only more the bedlam
to be shrewd and carried in esteem for the knock of a door of hope
done to the letter, done to the breeder, done to the setter, done to the debter, am
and to a future with no place to put a pair of shoes that rhyme
courses and the horror of distances to the infertile mind, is but a shadows illusion
these hungry ideas and the tears of thine, are made from the business of dying
where a heart is about to admit, passion, their in is your redemption, skin?
the waking ordeal of sincerity, in my hands for the night
whiches and the stitches in time, that matter and know lives
till or thine will, this excuse for angry sigh's might
shame, done away in a blaze of words
the acumen of salt in my vains, the mar and the mirth to atone
in a pinch of soul to quiet the babes of the mourning the wind heard
close close little many, the song of mercy comes for those that owe
lips of driven snow, the sanity of questions to the cares
of a sordid mess, the art with the honor of a conscience smart
in the myriad orchestrations to fend, the tender and eyed where
of solutions in the vows we keep, for a show of any and all to start
the kindred
of sense, to answer the courage's of youths and the martyring of the old
with but a patient form to better here, the onus of shame to lead
we know you for a succor in few, to liberate itself from the lovers in the fold
the daydream
of sheer totals of call and half, of travail told, for the chemistry of need
in rages of hours to fit into the miles for a sweeter weal, this irony is lean
paced with a cold stare of chastity in future height's, we collect the seed
the effluency
foremost to host a virtue in sounder praise sought
the come of such in turns for the rest of immediacy
in an indignant smoke of chance and the strangeness of seasons for not
the actuality
of sight in the myth of compromise and the adoration of might, for a certainty
to comply with a taller order of somber news, the waft of facts and compunction shall
sit right under your nose, the carer with the berievement of trust from a nose tender
the cope
where the similarity to confirm is a hap in love with mine, only more the bedlam
to be shrewd and carried in esteem for the knock of a door of hope
done to the letter, done to the breeder, done to the setter, done to the debter, am
and to a future with no place to put a pair of shoes that rhyme
courses and the horror of distances to the infertile mind, is but a shadows illusion
these hungry ideas and the tears of thine, are made from the business of dying
where a heart is about to admit, passion, their in is your redemption, skin?
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Judas And Coarse Known, Cried On Lips Done Sour?
Judas And Coarse Known, Cried On Lips Done Sour?