Amarinthe

You praise the slaves of angst

That most wind fleets

Atone the mourns in me

I speak my piece

But tugged along and he trickled substance, flowered seas

But death desires and feathers out the minds

Fly all the time here

Take what you have

Yet I can't vouch it's real

'Afore some men

This trail of tears we've left

So sudden cold

Morning slow

Cool morning slow

Sudden slow

Cool morning slow

I ought to save the rains and rails

Yes love reeks

For sales, it's undertones

And I kick my keep

And starboard mother, the other passing, one of each

When's twine desires a gang of clementines

Fly all the time here

Take what you have

But I can't vouch it's real

Or false on that

This trail of tears we've blacked

So sudden cold

Morning slow

Cool morning so

Sudden slow

So sudden cold

Morning slow

Cool morning so

Sudden slow

Cool morning slow

Cool morning slow

Cool morning slow

Cool morning slow