The curious stories of the developed soul
A centerfold wound with a porcelain brush
Alarming to most, but cooling to touch
It's crazy to gaze.. so deep in the stars
The Atlantics Birth.. the valleys so far
The God steady gaze I play on my flute
And fart out the demons with flames so astute
The root of the issue is that I am here
Just watching and wondering and weary of tears
Decisions are that which will lead in the way
And usher us forth to the brightest of days
The brightest of ways, the most mildest manner
I love what I am, in bruises and banter
I wrestle with devils and send them to church
And sing hallelujah when they take their perch
A merchant of time and a dealer of death
I'm having some trouble in finding some rest
The Christ in me weeps, hes also suprised
To see such a friend appear before his eyes
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