WINE AND GATES
Poor, Profuse And Persuaded To Poignancy...
Paces for a time's I have seen...
Places of suggestion to deserve the road to imagination...
Praises of voice that knew, the ordeal of happenstance, so keen...
Politics of power's to seem a little more than out, than usual, as instinct...
Can we be, every flower so candid and due, amend's
The tale of sin, is one of fright and silence in league with the our
To make the commotion of history, the spare face of suggestion, in
Take that one to the pride of burdening and its hoary leviathan, coward...?
Rage seems to be the unbecoming spectacle of reason in the dire and far
Away, says the wisdom, of care and character to decide the patience of deed
Truer by the sodden misery of consumption, than the sex of question's to warm
Warning the misguidance of uniqueness for a laugh and then the tyranny of kind's, is heed
Where has the each of an echo been?
Taken for a shy fool or the fineness of shares, we know the calamity of voice
Too severe to intone, the presumed majority of wishes and peace, to look amid kin
The promise of have in the notion to exceed has and can, has been an and in any's choice...
Can we thus say, that winning the race of liberty and it's larger than life freedom of season's
Is worth the oncoming half of such and more, the vision of pious reality for hardship?
Instinct seems to be the nutrition of a mind on the behalf of clock's and war to seek won
But a craving for merely the outcome of justice says so much, the passivity of reality to incept
Been the sweetened forces and mutuality of sense and its harrowing drive for what was sin
The reach of consideration in lore, and the mightier fate of common done, we know love
To be the shred of human decency it is, an accord to serve the careless whisper of cease and din
A glance of how, and the ourselves of hope, withheld to a fault once, but twice a new covenant
Places of suggestion to deserve the road to imagination...
Praises of voice that knew, the ordeal of happenstance, so keen...
Politics of power's to seem a little more than out, than usual, as instinct...
Can we be, every flower so candid and due, amend's
The tale of sin, is one of fright and silence in league with the our
To make the commotion of history, the spare face of suggestion, in
Take that one to the pride of burdening and its hoary leviathan, coward...?
Rage seems to be the unbecoming spectacle of reason in the dire and far
Away, says the wisdom, of care and character to decide the patience of deed
Truer by the sodden misery of consumption, than the sex of question's to warm
Warning the misguidance of uniqueness for a laugh and then the tyranny of kind's, is heed
Where has the each of an echo been?
Taken for a shy fool or the fineness of shares, we know the calamity of voice
Too severe to intone, the presumed majority of wishes and peace, to look amid kin
The promise of have in the notion to exceed has and can, has been an and in any's choice...
Can we thus say, that winning the race of liberty and it's larger than life freedom of season's
Is worth the oncoming half of such and more, the vision of pious reality for hardship?
Instinct seems to be the nutrition of a mind on the behalf of clock's and war to seek won
But a craving for merely the outcome of justice says so much, the passivity of reality to incept
Been the sweetened forces and mutuality of sense and its harrowing drive for what was sin
The reach of consideration in lore, and the mightier fate of common done, we know love
To be the shred of human decency it is, an accord to serve the careless whisper of cease and din
A glance of how, and the ourselves of hope, withheld to a fault once, but twice a new covenant
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Poor, Profuse And Persuaded To Poignancy...
Poor, Profuse And Persuaded To Poignancy...
