There Is No Title That Lips Did Swell, Death Of File Is Lit

 

Should I have stood the standard of the found,

the burial did lay me a sound.

Farther from the vista of all of the stun,

a shallow harbor gave rise to a tongue,

the language in the grave detail,

long before the terrors beget.

From force to find,

these words of kind,

be little to the choice of why the wire is of torque to down the feather of a cork.

Present as the barrel rang a long familiar tow,

the shock the finds such Ages range,

a bundle of what followed.

Directions sound as lagoon of bay,

waters ocean to lake a chore,

what value of the nightmares rode,

I woke to find the faces loud.

As cream did melt,

the marsh did fill,

I watched as denial found,

to what is that match in lean,

a deep and share that tooth of green.

Change the shape the World counters,

a pyramid or statue bear,

what Village fenced to soil marrows,

the feathers of the boa blamed,

coil rose to garden faced,

a tree with lovely rings of traced,

judge these fade to what is the fake,

a marrow that made skin of gloves.