WINE AND GATES
Please The Child, And The Spare Tire Is (Gone)
intel on a group hug
care in the sight of a wily example
oft nurtured, sent to live, in a corner with matter known
thank you for a lip of a difference, to suggest a more in wealth
terror for a roving exaction, to find but a brief note of whimsy
in the scurrilous ask and redoubt, we know to be
the calming share of destiny to a muse, so liberal if not severe
to account the tact of honesty for a raging fire, seen once for all but anarchy?
sans the noxious antics of the wind and the blinding hours until forces intermingle
this wandering mind, with a salt to finish, is a lucre of common dread
found in the most, we know neither the spoken phrase nor the body of still
but a logic so pressed, for a callous mercy in days is a land to die with selection ahead
care? for a sincerity in the miles to dream but another anger into voice?
haven't? the soul of lividity in the sheerness of antipathy sound?
shared? made for a requiem to sense the came does for the role of us, in a ley of choice?
behavior? since a herald of contrary feeling's is worth the been or being vice to hound?
welcome to the outhouse...
in the stare of records set for a question in speed, the draw of somehow shamed
to climb the notoriety of doors to seek your life, this is the tale of enemies to scoundrel
the voice of history in its variety forward has been could, should we fulfill the samed?
prophecy of cultures on the edge, edges found for the wisdom of comparison
to know a clashing sheet, of decision in the myriad toes of resolution fixed, with courage
applied to conscience of a prayer in the debt of you, the song with the measure of kind
if a king were to drink water from your hand, wouldn't the world have the music to face?
the mercy of a queen walks into the hand of God, and asks, "what's for dinner?", misery?
the angel to free and the answer to face is always more, the nation of deep ends to arrive
and the marvel of one more tongue of difference in the martyrdom of chances with ends, here
in the majesty of names arreared for a new question, to the nerve of supposed health to give
a priest of demands waits on a street light, and finds a penny in the street
should he go out and get it, risking the traffic and the fickle nature of kingdom come?
or should he wait, like an honest gentleman, ready for a moment to see to mind and years?
suicide is a fear in the hands of an enemy with no mind for it, like love should have a home
care in the sight of a wily example
oft nurtured, sent to live, in a corner with matter known
thank you for a lip of a difference, to suggest a more in wealth
terror for a roving exaction, to find but a brief note of whimsy
in the scurrilous ask and redoubt, we know to be
the calming share of destiny to a muse, so liberal if not severe
to account the tact of honesty for a raging fire, seen once for all but anarchy?
sans the noxious antics of the wind and the blinding hours until forces intermingle
this wandering mind, with a salt to finish, is a lucre of common dread
found in the most, we know neither the spoken phrase nor the body of still
but a logic so pressed, for a callous mercy in days is a land to die with selection ahead
care? for a sincerity in the miles to dream but another anger into voice?
haven't? the soul of lividity in the sheerness of antipathy sound?
shared? made for a requiem to sense the came does for the role of us, in a ley of choice?
behavior? since a herald of contrary feeling's is worth the been or being vice to hound?
welcome to the outhouse...
in the stare of records set for a question in speed, the draw of somehow shamed
to climb the notoriety of doors to seek your life, this is the tale of enemies to scoundrel
the voice of history in its variety forward has been could, should we fulfill the samed?
prophecy of cultures on the edge, edges found for the wisdom of comparison
to know a clashing sheet, of decision in the myriad toes of resolution fixed, with courage
applied to conscience of a prayer in the debt of you, the song with the measure of kind
if a king were to drink water from your hand, wouldn't the world have the music to face?
the mercy of a queen walks into the hand of God, and asks, "what's for dinner?", misery?
the angel to free and the answer to face is always more, the nation of deep ends to arrive
and the marvel of one more tongue of difference in the martyrdom of chances with ends, here
in the majesty of names arreared for a new question, to the nerve of supposed health to give
a priest of demands waits on a street light, and finds a penny in the street
should he go out and get it, risking the traffic and the fickle nature of kingdom come?
or should he wait, like an honest gentleman, ready for a moment to see to mind and years?
suicide is a fear in the hands of an enemy with no mind for it, like love should have a home
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Please The Child, And The Spare Tire Is (Gone)
Please The Child, And The Spare Tire Is (Gone)
