Paradise

A sign that is soaked in war, unheeded
Time once more will bring fuel for fire
Houses at home desert those as background
Holes now empty, listless as days

 

Again they will cry as the tales stay the same
Clues left scattered they skimmed high over
Truth scarce in a land of no simplicity
They ask, 'What are we going to do?'

 

True what are they going to do?
When they find paradise? 

New

◄ Bowl Of Earth

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