We were in the backyard, by the vine, warmth of winter’s sun. Old stone, rolling stream, snow-capped and well groomed. It was not my intention, to burden, heavy be the load. But as such the inclination to hold hands walk beneath the sun. Until we reach the sliver in time, shimmer in mind, sand and the summer and we. The salt and the psalms, the she oaks singing commode and a slow cup of tea. The two dollar sly, brown paper outside spewing the evil sherry. The dunes and their charms, the laughter disarms and hosannas singing merry. It was not my intention, to burden, heavy be the load. But as such the inclination, to hold hands and walk beneath the sun. Until we reach our end. Until then I’ll love the more. And all of the conundrums and all of this pretence. We’ll never be satisfied with all that we have and more. They’ll be no need of fairy tales of covers or of myths. Finally satisfied with holding the gentle compulsion. Details flickering, land disparate, unaligned. But it was not my intention to burden, heavy be the load. But as such the inclination to hold hands and walk beneath the sun. Until we reach the end. Home, it won’t be long before. Till were Home, it won’t be long before. Long Before. All of these conundrums and all of this pretence. And all of my beloved an immersion in the scents. Home, it won’t be long before. All of these conundrums and all of this pretence and all of the beloved an immersion in the scents. You be knocking on the door again. We'll be selling door to door,
supported by 4 fans who also own “Not That Kind of Party”
"There will be light come the morning. Hold tight till then to your sleep. Onerous sound breaks your slumber. Wash, rinse, soil then repeat. Repeat verse. Repeat Chorus. Wash, rinse, repeat. To the boys, to the girl, to the weeping tree." Girlvert