Contrast behind the words of faith,
The egalitarian eccentric being,
And didn’t the walls fall inward.
The second of the fathomed wraking to the shore,
And I know no more,
Besides the boots on my shoelace.
A soliloquy of the undermined,
And the things that ruminate within mine,
Slithering fingers beneath the blanket of yesterday.
Yet there is another way to see the racing shadows,
Down by the bay of the ends wall,
Surely not without my grace.
That in the end of the world and devine,
Reflects the sanctity of water,
And the similarity of my mind.
For god’s great adventure,
And we suffer to hear the tome of serendipitous occasion,
Yet we all just crave to feel home again.
I don’t think home exists in a world of water,
Where the moon did rise and the plants alive,
Yet there we stand without worry and hold up our eyes blind.
I suppose a symptom of it entire,
Fascism in my circle,
I care not to die.