Callous, the voice I was assumed
To be, the variety of homage
That comes to those deafened, by music looming
Upon a saved tread of promises, we found for rages

Of a coming hysteria in the names of reason...
Patience and redoubt, the canny tour of excellency
To be taken as if drive and despise, were a lucre to begin?
In the presence of laughter, the collapse of where, we mean?

Tickled fortune, insincere language, to rhyme with legends
Harping notion, to skip among the stillness, of remembering
The truth in an oily eye, we recall is ours, for liberty amends
The nature of recognition with a prayer, in its tones we linger

Amid the city, the total of another candid lip
To wander in the street's, the toil of all urges is a wind...?
To collect its honor in the silence, a warding we will know, it
Is but freshness of call, to a delineation of trust, in these we kin?

Honored by the distinction, if not the courtesy of must?
Somewhere the obvious, and the milk of human decency...
To a rusty flower, and the mark of ingenuity for a sight, become
The love we arrange for a salt, is not the imagination on brief...

Can a sensitive button, have the time of it's limelight?
Known with a cure for the quiet, are we the solitude of a sense?
Service to filial dream's and the decorum of waiting, was hearing might?
Looking upon the stones of decision's we have not made will ,not, become the voice of limit's?

Terror is such a cheap discipline...
The tale of curiosity toward a first and a last, of direction in the so called wind
But in the end, will portent seclude like the rage it is? the history of again
A rational of a keeping kiss … how could we?  lover's in silence, have it to mind...