WINE AND GATES
Absentia, Is A Wiser Love Than Hate (Even If You Hate It)
Time for an idiot
Souls with a requiem, that to you was a hip...
Look hard, for the oiled ear of me, sake and rot
The place of condition is on you, where candid is to sip
Long tomorrows in love with me, never you...
Salt and the rise of seldom, sluts and slayers
Have the moment to pause, for a question adrift on beauty
Tastes of vintage curiosity, has you by the ... but where are my manners
In hell, with a role to fate
Fathers with needs, have the sincerity of courage, in mind
Just like a certain call to uniqueness, that is our sate
Problems with harrowed women, will a mercy in mind for yourself, find...
A quicker lender may find a hair of the dog
But blood for piss or jude, knows you...
The times are a chaste urge, to further a legend that is also law
Has the time to use your mirror, friend, the coarse sin of a might that has bloomed
Looking hard, for why you aren't dead, or at least...
Salt in the mirror is, always, the flower before a hopeful spice
Bitch about the common route of disease, one more time and see the kiss
Of a shaved face, surprise, my father was a saint long before their hand in, dies...
The quotience of simplicity, not the sentience of dismal implicit means
So sophisticated for a guidance to realm and seldom anew...?
That some think your father killed you, a girl with early facts and figures, to a love gleaned
Had better refuse that kiss, until a fire in the sides of nowhere, have you for whom...?
Should, eye continue?
Look hard for that spirit of grimace and sage, you thought a wish of compliments
With but the touch of that father of yours, a spare demon in the pocket, to live in the rue
Is a devil with pride to eat, and would you? what if Satan was a care to see, your silence...
Overwrought, and wanting vengeance on a candle?
Seemly, the voice of a woman, with no place for clay and burnt oil
Suggested motive of a mother of invention, that has seen your denial
When a dancer in rags of fortune, comes for you, are you ready for a lover to hold...
Souls with a requiem, that to you was a hip...
Look hard, for the oiled ear of me, sake and rot
The place of condition is on you, where candid is to sip
Long tomorrows in love with me, never you...
Salt and the rise of seldom, sluts and slayers
Have the moment to pause, for a question adrift on beauty
Tastes of vintage curiosity, has you by the ... but where are my manners
In hell, with a role to fate
Fathers with needs, have the sincerity of courage, in mind
Just like a certain call to uniqueness, that is our sate
Problems with harrowed women, will a mercy in mind for yourself, find...
A quicker lender may find a hair of the dog
But blood for piss or jude, knows you...
The times are a chaste urge, to further a legend that is also law
Has the time to use your mirror, friend, the coarse sin of a might that has bloomed
Looking hard, for why you aren't dead, or at least...
Salt in the mirror is, always, the flower before a hopeful spice
Bitch about the common route of disease, one more time and see the kiss
Of a shaved face, surprise, my father was a saint long before their hand in, dies...
The quotience of simplicity, not the sentience of dismal implicit means
So sophisticated for a guidance to realm and seldom anew...?
That some think your father killed you, a girl with early facts and figures, to a love gleaned
Had better refuse that kiss, until a fire in the sides of nowhere, have you for whom...?
Should, eye continue?
Look hard for that spirit of grimace and sage, you thought a wish of compliments
With but the touch of that father of yours, a spare demon in the pocket, to live in the rue
Is a devil with pride to eat, and would you? what if Satan was a care to see, your silence...
Overwrought, and wanting vengeance on a candle?
Seemly, the voice of a woman, with no place for clay and burnt oil
Suggested motive of a mother of invention, that has seen your denial
When a dancer in rags of fortune, comes for you, are you ready for a lover to hold...
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Absentia, Is A Wiser Love Than Hate (Even If You Hate It)
Absentia, Is A Wiser Love Than Hate (Even If You Hate It)
