In his weary hour
The legumes blossom on time;
Out of jocundity in honour
Of the beautiful turf
The drowsy peasant peak.
His weird blistered palm blimey,
His nasty regalia wretched,
He produces plenty and eats small
He produces good and eats bad
To the nobles he worked,
The dark noxious pest
Ravage and wrest
The peasant-shaddock
This tonic the dressy peasant
A nocturnal haunter.
This extempore task
Demoralizes his sinew
His swansong
Rhythmically envelops
In serenity and drone.
Each rising smoke
Nervous him to move.
This previous eyes
That know no peace
By the smiling scorching sun.
At the dark hour
He puts on his clogs
And marched to the farm shack
There he finds the beetles
On the yam.
The great anxiety of the peasant
Is the bragging fire of winter
He fasted to lull it
He became gaunt
The sturdy peasant.
The time unknown: the blazing fire
Burnt the bedecked bower
The ranch house and the lettuce
Barefooted staggered him
To the farm with his straw hat
And met the yelling ashes
The cracking twigs of cocoa plant
The peasant live no day
Longer than that and slept
The force is erupting another deified element.
A calm walkabout that's gathering the fully intent.
The realm you seek is forward down the left hand path.
To each his own, by this trickery of faith and Holy wrath.
Devoured by the misunderstanding, and directed by the multiple guises.
Cast down beside the blind, by a God whom craft demoralizes.
Ready to be the unforgotten besides the unholy moral compass is always true.
As the universe is constantly watching, of which belief do you truly ensue?
Can it be possible that it's all been a climactic of a fully misinformed course?
With an open mind to believe, you must abandon to completely question it's source.
By my name is a casting of a runic force.
Bludgeoned by blunt words, provoked with their prayers, another exorcised possession.
Consider the exorcism to be the invoking of demons directly into human form from a demonic dimension.
The force is erupting another deified element.
A calm walkabout that's gathering the fully intent.
The realm you seek is forward down the left hand path.
To each his own, by this trickery of faith and holy wrath.
Devoured by the misunderstanding, and directed by the multiple guises.
Cast down beside the blind, by a God whom's craft demoralizes.
Ready to be the unforgotten besides the unholy moral compass is always true.
As the universe is constantly watching, of which belief do you truly ensue?
Can it be possible that it's all been a climatic of a fully misinformed course?
With an open mind to believe, you must abandon to completely question it's source.
By my name is a casting of a runic force.
Bludgeoned by blunt words, provoked with their prayers, another exorcised possession.
Consider the exorcism to be the invoking of demons directly into human form from a demonic dimension.
Don't pretend
unless,
of course
it's worth it in the end.
the present does not mend
time does, the present doesn't mend.
white flowers exhale so we can inhale
time will tell...
time will tell
if hell rises
demands sacrifices
demoralizes
and burns this world as well.
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