Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Sorrow

What is this witchery, this devilish luxury
A wisp of fate molds an idol out of earthen clay
and paints it golden to lure sinners and man
each of these embedded in the other so they seem as one

Separate, yet the same...
Even the wrath of God cant bend this will
This stubborn execution of self righteousness
My love, sweet, sweet love

The darkness prevails, and daylight yields
soft golden sunlight eventually becomes night
A lovers promise, languidly liquidates into lies
this reality melds into dreams and darkness

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