West
Avid has a sore eye...
Made from coy strength, as if blessed
The odd image of music, is it a lie?

Beat yourself up, another day
Truth has sat in judgment
Voiced curiosity, has seen the pain
Long talks of soul, have been sent...

Resolute, worth has seen the problem
Vice is a shadow, we fell in love with
But you seem to hate, a golden whim
Has asked, is a lucre's same, a comparison with tender vision's?

Prophecy, about the truth
Venture and generosity
Has stolen the voice of youth
For out the sense of an angel's city...

A new voice has appeared
Simple wishes and the star of liberty
To share a sincere question of a season of fear
Is wisdom dreadful enough, to choose life for seed?