WINE AND GATES
Nine Beauty's To Finish The Hour With Nothing
said of nine days without you
in paradise, the caring forces to collect a somber eye
the catering of song and dance, the notion of duty done, to a level of excited who
in the myriad tones and fusions of voice, to climb a wall to give, Christ
play and seek, the dour shelves of dreams in our grasp, food for all
the nature of kingdom come, to enliven but a stilling tree, the taste of ordeals
to guide a friend to the sour toes of destiny, we have no lies in our belly's, for a fall
to compare the since, this isn't your mind, its your place in the worlds...
the count of nine nights, the martyr of promises seen, the courage to live in the fury's
pioneering the sorts, or poised to be a saint...
the scab you taste is a logic best left to doors of chance, gambling with ones worry
is a hat of redress in the skills of other's, like heroine's of ourselves in shaded call, came
tart to the share of cope and the house of remembrance, the gift of hurry
in your face to know, the ply of joy, the toil of necessity for the rest
of a question in flames to give, the kindred of solace a new chance
of blessings and stones curried, for a salty expression of silence in your, guest's...
fish, the soul of drama to climb with the news, of a hardship of fortune, in has we know
the passion of sincerity to finish, itself in the mists and fists of compromise, the actual
life of domain in our moments, until a happier fact appears in the breast of home, when to low
the haste of cessated core of sticks and stones is nowhere to be found, but in the mouth of all
bread, the dole of common saviors to live longer than their kind, the season of choices made
for anywhere but in the remark of void sanity's, we know better as a heart of darkness
the tenderer the may, the more we keep the kink of solutions in vast reality, sad
the name of brethren, if not the very gift of sisterhood, to live in the myth of God as destiny
you died...
I lived, long enough to encourage the smile of adages and morsels of virtue to become the now
just a thriving heed of mesmeral lives, in the pace of a lion's paw, so to speak, denied
hell to heaven, in hardiness of continued stares, of a light in the eaves, of mine, allow
pence in the fame of a justified some, that has caressed the use of form in healing simplicity
the error of poison in your blood, is this cage of fools for the stone to throw in love
or is that sense of pride for the rest of our souls in the way, the meager now
to send a naked thrill to the willing eyes of shame, this our of dread was mine, for us
death, in the family or in the salvation of consciences on their way, to the city
this is no place for an excused hind to satisfy another for the milk of human kindness
in the merit of possibility seen, and the caring thumb of persuasion made, entity
is a larger than whole comment of life's power, the smoke in your eyes, is anywhere but blessed
in paradise, the caring forces to collect a somber eye
the catering of song and dance, the notion of duty done, to a level of excited who
in the myriad tones and fusions of voice, to climb a wall to give, Christ
play and seek, the dour shelves of dreams in our grasp, food for all
the nature of kingdom come, to enliven but a stilling tree, the taste of ordeals
to guide a friend to the sour toes of destiny, we have no lies in our belly's, for a fall
to compare the since, this isn't your mind, its your place in the worlds...
the count of nine nights, the martyr of promises seen, the courage to live in the fury's
pioneering the sorts, or poised to be a saint...
the scab you taste is a logic best left to doors of chance, gambling with ones worry
is a hat of redress in the skills of other's, like heroine's of ourselves in shaded call, came
tart to the share of cope and the house of remembrance, the gift of hurry
in your face to know, the ply of joy, the toil of necessity for the rest
of a question in flames to give, the kindred of solace a new chance
of blessings and stones curried, for a salty expression of silence in your, guest's...
fish, the soul of drama to climb with the news, of a hardship of fortune, in has we know
the passion of sincerity to finish, itself in the mists and fists of compromise, the actual
life of domain in our moments, until a happier fact appears in the breast of home, when to low
the haste of cessated core of sticks and stones is nowhere to be found, but in the mouth of all
bread, the dole of common saviors to live longer than their kind, the season of choices made
for anywhere but in the remark of void sanity's, we know better as a heart of darkness
the tenderer the may, the more we keep the kink of solutions in vast reality, sad
the name of brethren, if not the very gift of sisterhood, to live in the myth of God as destiny
you died...
I lived, long enough to encourage the smile of adages and morsels of virtue to become the now
just a thriving heed of mesmeral lives, in the pace of a lion's paw, so to speak, denied
hell to heaven, in hardiness of continued stares, of a light in the eaves, of mine, allow
pence in the fame of a justified some, that has caressed the use of form in healing simplicity
the error of poison in your blood, is this cage of fools for the stone to throw in love
or is that sense of pride for the rest of our souls in the way, the meager now
to send a naked thrill to the willing eyes of shame, this our of dread was mine, for us
death, in the family or in the salvation of consciences on their way, to the city
this is no place for an excused hind to satisfy another for the milk of human kindness
in the merit of possibility seen, and the caring thumb of persuasion made, entity
is a larger than whole comment of life's power, the smoke in your eyes, is anywhere but blessed
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Nine Beauty`s To Finish The Hour With Nothing
Nine Beauty`s To Finish The Hour With Nothing