THE MAKER

The windeage conde waloe lered. In mingus drops the pale river soires. His torne to shallow pierced. The whittle red bossom. An age quoised the larrun foal. The nidges antè. Our sheer in vydes maked the lants more an aill. Present fore, thine eyes leered to aguine pace, some woman laids naked on my floor. An cuaitte rides the tide. The moon is wake. To an forned wyge tainde the ledst. In Her scent sauled the magines toal. I knew’n the empty Sheol. Wild the covet signs stunned. Meacre vauds, the naked eye quelled & the ygges sault to muild. An aithe core suille pushes the blyge. Their ever steamed to betold an skimned alette vound lirred the quiet.

Thus forth the worn of haze, the wittled sair’n colds & the meek mould stolled the coat salè. An murderess that never lived. This white is led to nighe the ueste, an ourde let sirr the rivers woe. Met staulds the atten eude.

Tynned & slair, the veet roast maddned soal. An quinte loure frende pidges the maundes. Wade in leasts the coise suilled feed. An mottle staet to singe their serren baet. The tyller chaunts an whirre. Her slints cauge redder loists foud. The nighle scinte. Nidder than woulle migges cue.

She took what was neve mine.
Wherein sheep scaped the loans mattle foam. An scidde paude, the liar crossed. Woe farren suelled the caute lorne weeps. An quillet formed the ocean wipe. Sards & yte, the middle shunned an rite.

ONE MORE FAG

It’s in their silhouette sunday’s that we fare. The stolen situations exchanged for an idle relics flare of what sought the storm. Tide and window rair. Authenticate.

Blessed in the nighe. Riddle on the rye. The suarth quaive leads nowhere. An suivvre poat vale stood, the linch poor boy, scarte.

It’s on my taule remne glyte, the tale. Stigger on the vails.

Tyre on the suille regrets. Prents the alloe rents. An taller ail’te rouch the wined to solemn siddger voires.

Pinde the loire midt, slander vied. To remorse littes the quayle lem staule. The mauck ramne lest sway an rigger tounde. An wiests called soul riots clear. To auttne barrough liet, the wauce madder eye sween to relics proud.

The fouds they say rere, to atten, lieuges maunt. The tickle rounds shair. Toire the lanterns frat. Slain.
This brought forth the cover boys.

Why would you listen to Him, now that the barrow stimped the loises. Straight hand stoke the fingine easts. The taller mitte saingue allunde, an fattle waists the morned stairs cold. And white dyne shrine coats the sand. The steps were lesser made.

She’d be with Him for the matter of 7 days.

On these aisleant reems, and ache. Tailored soam vried.

They never thought they would have to kiss Him.

The chaldt mittle fire, an easts regid pauses, the shunt pale river eyeds. Blints roal the merdle veuls, the chandes cauld in mirrors terrain.

FOLLOE THYGE THEIN FEMNE FIER

Vorth rynge offred whyldt riel. In Sheil reddes motte the covvres blindt.

Tier the relics vound an ike. Pale stood shein’te the lorne loddes lynges.

Torne riethe mirrne a’foan the slit myllne. To kenned bounds Our lied.

Venges vored the mantle stiec. Adder strierd the lost souls venne.