WINE AND GATES
A Simple Pass Of Everyday May Ever Stay...?
hickory...
worth in will's to the side of skill's
the taste of domains of judgment continued, upon identity
the waiting of courage for a simpler may in blessing's, to fulfil...
dickory...
fruit of solace in the silence of nominal care, the briny tooth of residency
over a problem of consciences seen, for a future oddity
would you make a sound name the presumption of a new friends, immediacy...
dock...
the truth before us in a sizeable chunk of history, chastity?
for the needs of others to live beyond the edges of forsooth and mocked
tales of juice in our nose, the noise of duty in our mind, worth likened enmity...
the mouse ran up the clock...
and the day has ended, with a flight of fancy for nothing...?
but the embarrassed eyes of did, this survival of kind before its lock
have the kiss of sincerity before the rest of neglect, we have come to expect is, wanting
the clock struck one...
totals of joy survived in the name of redeeming sanity to come
for a single dream of might we all know, the patience of comparison with none...?
is a river before its bed to seek the sands and stones of nothing more?, yes and some
and down ran the mouse...
like the times themselves to remember the notion of another day, of prescience
the corners of dilemma and the hunted comeliness of theories of salt before a house
show the daring of liberty to finish the ides of itself before another's, more than silence...
the mouse found home...
like a sleeping giant to further the since of a reasons bite for supper, the times
are a playing one, to remember the focus of exaction in the moments, until weal is thumbs
of justice made, to the great and small, that have the wholes of otherwise and kindred, hinds
worth in will's to the side of skill's
the taste of domains of judgment continued, upon identity
the waiting of courage for a simpler may in blessing's, to fulfil...
dickory...
fruit of solace in the silence of nominal care, the briny tooth of residency
over a problem of consciences seen, for a future oddity
would you make a sound name the presumption of a new friends, immediacy...
dock...
the truth before us in a sizeable chunk of history, chastity?
for the needs of others to live beyond the edges of forsooth and mocked
tales of juice in our nose, the noise of duty in our mind, worth likened enmity...
the mouse ran up the clock...
and the day has ended, with a flight of fancy for nothing...?
but the embarrassed eyes of did, this survival of kind before its lock
have the kiss of sincerity before the rest of neglect, we have come to expect is, wanting
the clock struck one...
totals of joy survived in the name of redeeming sanity to come
for a single dream of might we all know, the patience of comparison with none...?
is a river before its bed to seek the sands and stones of nothing more?, yes and some
and down ran the mouse...
like the times themselves to remember the notion of another day, of prescience
the corners of dilemma and the hunted comeliness of theories of salt before a house
show the daring of liberty to finish the ides of itself before another's, more than silence...
the mouse found home...
like a sleeping giant to further the since of a reasons bite for supper, the times
are a playing one, to remember the focus of exaction in the moments, until weal is thumbs
of justice made, to the great and small, that have the wholes of otherwise and kindred, hinds
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A Simple Pass Of Everyday May Ever Stay...?
A Simple Pass Of Everyday May Ever Stay...?
