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Sure, the taste of history's undoing is in the hands of self, but who is its savior? |
Tell the tale Form in an open hand, the gesture of experience Creation for us to live, in the light to fail Tooth and mark, and a heart with succor for a chance Passion in the name, of a solace of virtue, some Asked to live, in a many, sin and any Care and fair, thieves and the dole of eaves, the portion of home Your too young, to know the difference between history or fancy...? Shame for you... The excused cursing and the worsening house of sitting bold If ever to exact, the notion of my honor to clean the way of minds, who Have the sense to live up to a name, that has a lover for you, shown Told you to likewise the stare of others, if corners have the callous need... When to firsts, the song of lasts is for everyone who can know, myself Actual life for the risks of intuition that could, taken to extremes of poise to heed The making of doles for the resting eyes of a whole, paces of order in has and wealth Yearning for more? The time is with a stranger in the myth of somberness watched Time to take, the reason of reality risen above the kind, to the future How, your world is a letter of friendship before you, like ever and never said... |