Lines of my historyScratched deep in my faceReflects the pain of remembranceAnd the stain, of God’s grace. Lines of your historyEtched deep from withinDetects the presence of pretenseIn God’s pressure, to win. Lines of our historyAn arched angel withinDenies the posture of pressureIn God’s sojourn, of sin.
a depening firea santa ana flamea delicate reactionto wild and darkening shame.
Consummate lessonsOf painful detailBegs for forgivenessIn the world of betrayal. Countenance leaningsOf darkening talesMakes wishing for forgivenessA hollow right, of the frail.
The counting of triesDeniesYour influence voiceAmongst ferventNatural cries. The telling of truthsTriesTo correct your influenceAmongst your naturalLies.
Soul sideways slippingDown a deceptive silent laneMakes the meeting of my makerThe maker of my pain.
Intellectual lazinessborn quietly from withincreeps slowlyin your consciousnessstriving hardnot to win.
Darkness comes to us allIn timeRegardless of anyChoired rhyme A single dayA desperate findIn the end We hopeThat fateIs kind.
A failure completeIs a failure combinedBy acceding is existanceIt becomes a failure of mind.
Photons and phonon’sAre integral In themeTo the wave smashing code baseThe light of a first Machine.
I have only the neutral Of thought. No worriesNo angerNo painNo vengeanceI am the exact equalOf nothing.