After all these implements and texts designed by intellects so vexed to find evidently there's still so much that hides and though the saints dub us divine in ancient fading lines their sntiment is just as hard to pluck from the vine
I'll try hard not to pretend, allow myself no mock defense... as I step into the night
Since I don't have the time nor mind to figure out the nursery rhymes that helped us out in making sense of our lives the cruel, uneventful state of apathy releases me I value them but I won't cry every time one's wiped out
I'll try hard not to give in, batten down to fare the wind rid my head of this pretense allow myself no mock defense... as I step into the night
Mercy's eyes are blue and when she places them in front of you nothing really holds a to the solemn warmth you feel inside of you
