I see waves forming from the undermouth
Our time is ours for the while if we bathe in confidence
I have been searching in the labyrinth
Yearning for a thread to sink my passion in
But you pull up your hair like wool from a sheep
It curls my hair and makes me wonder what tree I'll grow under
The firmament is smoky now and I feel the fire
But the picture freezes
Nothing can appease this abstraction
From concentration attrition to the wailing contrition
The piano sounds a symphony and I feel something is here for me
The picture perfect in its pompous posture preparing propriety in ponder
I hear the strings and feel them suckle me in
I am a dreamer who has met his demise and now a dire desire to deliver a dirge on delicate design
How I find and fly a song so on fire,
But the cold
And the picture rolls like a pancake about to be tolled with more flavour
I can taste it in my tongue and feel its beat on my chest
Truly tee to tire tears of the flee where would I truly tinge and fly free?
Nowhere would I be if I could near the nigh neighbour from heaven next to me like a nest that nurtures nostalgia
Oh what a view that smells like stew but powders like hue
Now a dissident delinquent dead of dedication derelict in the deep
How I near and chase the steeds, I guess I will just leap.
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 10:37 AM UTC
I see waves forming from the undermouth
Our time is ours for the while if we bathe in confidence
I have been searching in the labyrinth
Yearning for a thread to sink my passion in
But you pull up your hair like wool from a sheep
It curls my hair and makes me wonder what tree I'll grow under
The firmament is smoky now and I feel the fire
But the picture freezes
Nothing can appease this abstraction
From concentration attrition to the wailing contrition
The piano sounds a symphony and I feel something is here for me
The picture perfect in its pompous posture preparing propriety in ponder
I hear the strings and feel them suckle me in
I am a dreamer who has met his demise and now a dire desire to deliver a dirge on delicate design
How I find and fly a song so on fire,
But the cold
And the picture rolls like a pancake about to be tolled with more flavour
I can taste it in my tongue and feel its beat on my chest
Truly tee to tire tears of the flee where would I truly tinge and fly free?
Nowhere would I be if I could near the nigh neighbour from heaven next to me like a nest that nurtures nostalgia
Oh what a view that smells like stew but powders like hue
Now a dissident delinquent dead of dedication derelict in the deep
How I near and chase the steeds, I guess I will just leap.