We are just pack of woods
Floating through thick air
So solid inside
The other wouldn’t mention the fear.
Musically delicious,
Visually charming
Scriptually spiritual
Little frosty on the landing.
Dawn is the night if not the dusk
Dark is the true friend if not the dust.
Blood is the Gin,
True colour on chin
It’s no lust my friend
Hunger is mother of all sin
When all is bright
And none is cold
Fire is the master
to shiver and fold.
To believe in the cult
But not to live in
If man is mankind
Then they are the nearest kin.
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