WINE AND GATES
If Tucked Is Bed, And Night Is Might, What Am Eye?
look, upon a hand without
the laughter of our needs, never named
the lucky with the sight of untoward, haunting as pouted
the shame of others is a larger than life, fame?
now were talking, the toes and the row of suggestion in our way of life
to regard and remember the knowing for us, the reliquary of done
duty is ours for a song, the shame of reality to fend for itself, a lip come strife
asked if a witness is meant to seek a kinder stance, the stares of home...
is this nature of kingdom come, the shall of liberty to reach?
is this fate of charity in our means, the namesake of naked feelings for a mere?
is this question of infirmity the sanity of overture come, to these for ideas of cease?
is this answer of complexity in voice, the still had, for a place to know fear?
live and grow, and all that
in the modesty of reasons seen, for a pace of sides and the choice of a new generation
to simply garner a few facts more than known, the situation of correction via cause, we at
to deliver a smile and a surprise, to figure the host of suggestion is in mores, kin
power to devil the nary done fell, the trite with the skip of needless since smiles were act?
upon the saving grace of possession of need for a simplicity to heed, the truth?
of summation in the eaves of possibility to fire up a rather unique argument of pacts?
in the very voice you assume a chance of new seasons and the irk of the old, who'th?
power in the name of a hill, walked upon by no one but God?
then of shame, then of sigh's, tense of sames
then of why, is our face in the wind a habit to qualm, even spit in the eye of odd?
never again...
the laughter of our needs, never named
the lucky with the sight of untoward, haunting as pouted
the shame of others is a larger than life, fame?
now were talking, the toes and the row of suggestion in our way of life
to regard and remember the knowing for us, the reliquary of done
duty is ours for a song, the shame of reality to fend for itself, a lip come strife
asked if a witness is meant to seek a kinder stance, the stares of home...
is this nature of kingdom come, the shall of liberty to reach?
is this fate of charity in our means, the namesake of naked feelings for a mere?
is this question of infirmity the sanity of overture come, to these for ideas of cease?
is this answer of complexity in voice, the still had, for a place to know fear?
live and grow, and all that
in the modesty of reasons seen, for a pace of sides and the choice of a new generation
to simply garner a few facts more than known, the situation of correction via cause, we at
to deliver a smile and a surprise, to figure the host of suggestion is in mores, kin
power to devil the nary done fell, the trite with the skip of needless since smiles were act?
upon the saving grace of possession of need for a simplicity to heed, the truth?
of summation in the eaves of possibility to fire up a rather unique argument of pacts?
in the very voice you assume a chance of new seasons and the irk of the old, who'th?
power in the name of a hill, walked upon by no one but God?
then of shame, then of sigh's, tense of sames
then of why, is our face in the wind a habit to qualm, even spit in the eye of odd?
never again...
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If Tucked Is Bed, And Night Is Might, What Am Eye?
If Tucked Is Bed, And Night Is Might, What Am Eye?
