Couture of torture endure the mortar in the pellet blessing..
Innocent beings bloom in rhythmic doom..
Prize position next to the exit wound..
hide the crown we made while we were still undressing..
Justified, the motion implied..
tell the tale..
earn the lions share..
Then we go back through the painted black..
the instant the instinct becomes urge..
when it's hard to swallow..
but it's all that you can do..
I've supplied a plain view..
I've recovered from foreign regret..
I've seen the sun and beyond..
I've been hit by light, sound and vibration..
all in tune with the minuscule affirmation..
all in tune with the meaning of life for a second..
but the third never comes..
and I'm left in the sand..
with the moon in my hands..
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