The taste of the space
In teemy tall times
The rush of the pacing
Everkind
But all is too late
To reverize
On the flurries come
The darn of fury's sons
So we ride the wind
To rift and wayward
The song of the child
Chasing
To stop up the milds
Of cowardice
Run you rivers run
Under tons and tons
Of suns
Bright as a falling sky
To twist and fold
To twist and fold
Through a flashing eye
You saw all you needed
Bought and sold again
Blissed in the hours
On high
Until all the tops
Have toppled in vain
Until all is rot
And rails of wrung rage
We carve on a knot
To spell the ways
We belong to one
Even when
The thunder comes
If it folds in
The folds are fates' own
Better best are
Your righteous days
They're the echoes
Of Grace