Life has a temper
Made from old convinced who'd
And marvel's of drama, that has our tenure
Save me from ought's ordeal, if I show a hand so good...

May, we redoubt your pace
The future in an uproar, to tell a different story...
Worded by frank ennui, and endorsed with sates
That complete a final nature, to what was God-given worry

Oft, the pout of summations gift, a realer seem sometimes concise
Sometimes a herald of ambiguity to come, with a driven feat
Sometimes the wind speaks our language, like a fool has wizened
And sometimes a shared power to extant, the moments until least...

Guarding hope from a militancy's exchange
Will an avid forth, the bright mind of decision and attention?
Begin here, with a rhyme and a reason, however strange
To know a callous form to friendship, or its best contention?

Look, says society's ghost...
Mere to here and lead to dread
We are all a method to mend, the risen kind of those
When a tomorrow has a melancholy, the only idea is patience said

But a sneaking suspicion, profound for a tell tale gage
Of worth before a limit in light, that did show a fear its works
The tried and the true, the inner most of completion, of times rage
With a final push for voice, to know us, the actual truth that lurks

Sat with a done liberty, the mores of common weal
Have come and gone to return again, with a right to thorough can
And cannot a whole sincerity ever choose from austerity a feeling
Of purpose, to wonder in open catch and imbue, is salvation and?