Motor Crossing

To Triggs of the Ancient bellowed in Full,

the brig of the Nautical compass the throw,

to depths of dark follow skipping knows,

James blunt is knotted to Tied in the Flyed.

Crated to barrells of rifling trumped,

the Chest Piece of Blinking these Times never Thinking,

that multiplexed value of tweets not so speaks,

charged with questions of severing meets.

Dungeons in sing Ing the dangerous lows,

to the sky of appealing the already wrote,

the Lair of the Chain to the brake of the tame,

we all freely dry up the Minds of the flow.

Cheers to the Men whom know to the Den,

streaks to the lightening of all Ways bend,

lean to the Walls of the tights in a sprawl,

as I see the pleading enter your Fall.

The Cocks will still Crow,

the chickens still do grow,

the egg shelling cracks,

of the battering lacks,

the Cake of the Iced in Rocks a Rate,

to pave in the place that Hell whilst thou Show.

No Imagination Bills to the Neil,

for in the terrific the queer is the Kiel,

 the shaft of the shifting for a Life in the lifting,

know longer wonder Karma is drifting.

Stolen Verses to Horses in Knight pass the Larks,

to deep throated birds or calling a Verb,

the chains that will breathe the venue of deed,

to the stairs of the winding Bannister streams.

Do as you beckon for it is in the Fact,

racking for ridden it proves you're a Tuck,

breaded for Oysters the pearling struck,

up to the shores of evidenced lore.

Print me a Picture said to the Bore,

wriggle the tows to vittled the Score,

repeat the processed meetings a chore,

run in the credits the Movie of Thor.

Bringing the Fire in exact of the pass,

what a disaster the Singer did last,

songs to the brilliant light fest,

you're words have worth to heard in before.

We All do not dye some just say Moore,

the dust of the bogs that logs these in pours,

spurred to the flames the angled still rain,

for bridled in Cobs the determined are trained.

Cross to the brackished tar to the bone,

The Frill of Event is the Actuals in Tone,

scarp 'til you feel the deep in the groan,

if time is all I have...does that ring a stone.

The Code of Making Colors,

the oops of I don't NO,

the sling-shots that load,

the granite of droves,

the speed of the tastes of the flavored in Bow,

no poisoned fruit could ever uproot,

the Natural Original speak of the Trued.