What happens as these rare strange beautiful, beautiful objects stray the ached earth?
Perhaps they whisper more readily from the shoulder of motherhood.
But they are far far harder to mark from the singing spark flaming grindstone.
Fire ward their cases lay hollow in the separate mystic place they come from
You don’t understand my views, or what it is i see
Nothing you say is news cause you wouldn’t listen to me
You take my words out of context, your message of wrong is right
What are you gonna tell us next, that dark is day not light?
Creation! is proof enough for me
Something that’s there for everyone to see
You watch the wrong example then conclude a falacy
Your hasty generalization is there for all to see
My actions you speak of is easier said than done
The hope that god see’s in you has got you on the run.
