Death speaking in tongues, As a flame of fire tongue Waiting like a waiter to receive the glory of shame through men For they act like hen What will I gain gain from this question WHEN? Where every huddles of beast has turned to a gist
I respect the voice of the wilderness, For the desert has wildered away in my twinkle like a disappearance star Waiting to see the moon in no avail of its angle Calling the angEL of angLE To stand for me in the darkest path Pushing me away from the rocky parts
The big eye is at its centre of equilibrium Having its measurement at the pendulum of the cambium Recording the result as insult For the innovations has turned to renovations For I know I have a salvation that will take me to the sanctuary The pad has turned to bad For the hope is now in between the spoke of a bicycle
Reason me ohhh God For my people are now dog Trying to dodge from the dirge of the succors Belittling the scorpion as a tiny beast of the breast That will rest in the chest of the heavenly bed…
The pad has turned to bad For the hope is now in between the spoke of a bicycle