Monday, March 26, 2012
The Amazing Pudding
Tears of the dead arise from the grave and wash the scales from my eyes. Living land breathe once again give my voice unto the sky. Dream small birds safe airs for wandering wing. Call out warning when the dark wakes once more. There shall be no more terror falling upon us, its already drown out the shore and washed back to sea. Burn the bridges lets not be back again.