They Pull At The Bone

Bare stunned ardent faster

How warmly I embrace my Master

There's coldness in these tired times

The regular was always there

Of course

And always theirs

Of course

Too much to know and nowhere near enough time

And time

It was

A hurricane of sorts

A better memento would have been to kill her

And never see that torrid idiot again

And light the palm tree on this tide

Take this arm and feast on your bride

It never was theirs to spoil

It never was theirs at all

But all refused to budge

For fear of fear of such a fussy royal

Whatever would and could he do

We dare not ask

We dare not wonder such a task

What coldness could he reach

What depths would he sink

As far as the images could pass

Then on they'd run into the brink

And all beyond you could conceive

No

We dare not ask