WINE AND GATES
Why Religion Eats Yet Perceive's Seldom Each
Panic owes me, a roaming spirit
Ready to do, the dire life of another...
Sense from a haunted hand, is so much, to quiet
At the adding favor of semblance, to seek energy's to bother?
Which and with out the store of advance
Measure to survive the came notion, in heed a worth
Admitted to, in yet's live and given source, amends
Of risen ours, to finish the breed of sin's, hour by onus, opus by girth
Again, please...
Still a vying warmth of seemly so, succor for the coming hold
Of verily a heart to age, with the callous voice, of wonder's to never cease...
The truer the tongue, the greater the reach of yearning and the gift's of the old
Again, thank you...
Till a dire star to confirm the distance to irony and the love, of reality
Is a weal in the now, to share more than the antiquity of salt, but the courage of wisdom
Found in the morrow of spare duty come to ends, for the rest of considered identity
Again...
More than the else, in a reaching half, of service to an ideal
The moments of clarity and the asking persual of what went where, and what went with aim
Arguably the any, and all of society, to simplify the conversation of when to seek healing
Again, here...
Problems in broken spires, despairing of vaunted hark, the lowly end of the stick
Where a marveling stare of complacency and the journeyed justice of future cloth, is so near...
The anarchy of vice's shadow, became mine and your's to seed, the rationality of time, as is
Sated with the news, poorer for a fist, richer for the stir of inclemency
Vaster and further cope, to sink the not with a pale eye for silent truth...
Hap is a war with more, than is a waking head or the scream of another's jealousy
Peculiar, toward or charismatic to dread, the voice I speak of is youth...
Ready to do, the dire life of another...
Sense from a haunted hand, is so much, to quiet
At the adding favor of semblance, to seek energy's to bother?
Which and with out the store of advance
Measure to survive the came notion, in heed a worth
Admitted to, in yet's live and given source, amends
Of risen ours, to finish the breed of sin's, hour by onus, opus by girth
Again, please...
Still a vying warmth of seemly so, succor for the coming hold
Of verily a heart to age, with the callous voice, of wonder's to never cease...
The truer the tongue, the greater the reach of yearning and the gift's of the old
Again, thank you...
Till a dire star to confirm the distance to irony and the love, of reality
Is a weal in the now, to share more than the antiquity of salt, but the courage of wisdom
Found in the morrow of spare duty come to ends, for the rest of considered identity
Again...
More than the else, in a reaching half, of service to an ideal
The moments of clarity and the asking persual of what went where, and what went with aim
Arguably the any, and all of society, to simplify the conversation of when to seek healing
Again, here...
Problems in broken spires, despairing of vaunted hark, the lowly end of the stick
Where a marveling stare of complacency and the journeyed justice of future cloth, is so near...
The anarchy of vice's shadow, became mine and your's to seed, the rationality of time, as is
Sated with the news, poorer for a fist, richer for the stir of inclemency
Vaster and further cope, to sink the not with a pale eye for silent truth...
Hap is a war with more, than is a waking head or the scream of another's jealousy
Peculiar, toward or charismatic to dread, the voice I speak of is youth...
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Why Religion Eats Yet Perceive`s Seldom Each
Why Religion Eats Yet Perceive`s Seldom Each
