Tried and truth the bearing of the route to a ride on the marrow,
life is full to the scream of what is told to be and yet its all a stare,
the apple bite to that red sea of tablets rain,
the massive reply to a commerce that speaks shine to a seat but death to a peeled.
The grand chains as Hell is the thread to the shredding of ever die,
then on the church pew the preach is of extra eternity on whom is the barrel of the rum.
Sheds to the covers and silence to the lambs,
survival is the action of the dumps,
for should the priest envelope deviled eggs than the cope is scrambled,
the bell toll is the fee for the life on the turns,
in dined upon at the pipers price,
oh for the march,
its not the some that road now sadly its the plenty!!
Shores of dimes spelling scores have brought to the lather a seat,
for the beatings on my own body I spell wrecked,
not a polite manner in the closed spoken,
as the door of religion swings and for the sorrow I say lives are caught in the pinch at left.
The world grazes on the pain and thrill rides the story,
exhilarated by the gossip pits and the falling lumbering of lived,
streaks of memorized flow to a streams denial but its the eyes that speech volumes in Plenty,
forests on the clear cuts have grown to know people are honestly harps,
stringing the theater to pieces for stride then mooring the pierce for each every bone,
the splinters that still bother the mind are puzzled and prodded to echo no sewn,
just jagged left overs from ribbons shredded machined once the mind of a bet driven lean,
now its the process of platters and pings,
all in the singing of decision to read.
