βπ½ You paint a very pretty picture But can you see through the sky π The darkest night of soul Has yet to past us by π£ Weβre but dreamers Slumbering in an array of desires Starving in a garden paradise We choke on the manna from heaven Devour the milk and honey And drown on the wine of divine
We are merely the human kind This round is on me this time! π₯