You stuck around, rose above from depths below but you are no hymn.
Vision blurs, shakes.
You are no god, yet ruler of us all. I write to you, i feel for you, i sing to you.
Worship is never far not even in silver scared dogs. It was not the wine making you shake, only pupils dilate and a silver and yellow face. Reverb on voice that echoes through the chaos of cloud kings and flames that died to make us, melting gradient, shimmering dusk. Don't tell me otherwise. Don't correct me if I'm wrong because no one knows even that much. A thought makes us believe and swear truth, and a doubt proves lies we once justified. Doubt the shimmering dusk, correct the melting gradient. Red pen isn't strong enough to hold me down. Silver and yellow face, goodnight.