WINE AND GATES
Afraid Of Your Own Shadow, Afraid Of Your Our Selves
Kiss me, in a boat
Of seldom difference, and the wondering eye
Time in a sharing beheld, to be a shy joke
"In the end we are silence of all, to excuse me, myself, my..."
Timid shapes of doting, the threshold of succor
Sounded energy, the taller order of powers
Prowess, to a vice with vision to psyches serve
The kindness of persuasion is its more, than with a seasoned flower?
Obviously the punch line to the joke...
Anarchy in a long feud, with remorse and its caliber?
To risk in its wisdom, the cold shoulder we envision is mortal, a hope
Of common need, to quicken the press of conscience, too much for too little worth?
Doesn't...?
And the history of romance, the collection of mere and mendacity
To acquire the taste of another, guidance of judgment before the hush...
Of quarter becomes the collapse, of when a habit of decency is to be, a kinships liberty?
Purpose under a stare, with better friends than yet...
Yours and the significance of a childhood, if the taste of causes and mercy
Mortality is a season we never forgave, without the past of ideology meant?
With a salt to excuse me and you from the table of stead's identity, fear and history...
Of seldom difference, and the wondering eye
Time in a sharing beheld, to be a shy joke
"In the end we are silence of all, to excuse me, myself, my..."
Timid shapes of doting, the threshold of succor
Sounded energy, the taller order of powers
Prowess, to a vice with vision to psyches serve
The kindness of persuasion is its more, than with a seasoned flower?
Obviously the punch line to the joke...
Anarchy in a long feud, with remorse and its caliber?
To risk in its wisdom, the cold shoulder we envision is mortal, a hope
Of common need, to quicken the press of conscience, too much for too little worth?
Doesn't...?
And the history of romance, the collection of mere and mendacity
To acquire the taste of another, guidance of judgment before the hush...
Of quarter becomes the collapse, of when a habit of decency is to be, a kinships liberty?
Purpose under a stare, with better friends than yet...
Yours and the significance of a childhood, if the taste of causes and mercy
Mortality is a season we never forgave, without the past of ideology meant?
With a salt to excuse me and you from the table of stead's identity, fear and history...
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Afraid Of Your Own Shadow, Afraid Of Your Our Selves
Afraid Of Your Own Shadow, Afraid Of Your Our Selves
