ReRites (Counting the Shapes Of My Life)

Counting the Shapes Of My Life Let love sing the blood of the soul And dance the sea of the streets Feelings not made silent for fools; digressions gathered From woods singing blood in the void of a sun standing In the quiet of a most beautiful universe A locked mirror beneath the window filled With cold things where no one can eat the rain and The dark light there contains three dreams Flowing under the mountain's bones In the dust last summer among delicate twigs Deconstructing the disaligned Cushions of the dreary morning The music's hidden awakening Whispering of hope Sung This Moment To Rise Consented To be that place up at the end of the mountain i am waiting to be an essential curl my own beautiful infection love echo of a soul a silent message hiding dark and wan under a theory mumbled, unveiled as hate by my poor love. Although the day finds the sun food it does not hide that ebony great flame from its outer puppet, the saint asleep in its chest, the amoureuse climax of rain rolling out the love-root remote handmade cloud and machine-payable silence. Entamed, it wait on lawns where longing is shut into talk, clear and quick locative time placed dependent on the sounded confusion, a lovely embroidered motherfuckin copious nugget spark sentence offering time. Under a wave dome, 7,097 languages caulk civilisations and glide with love thru dirty great meaning's caution to unilaterally celebrate control of the swamp voice.