Perhaps the choice of love or lust
Is one that shadows the choice of trust...

The red velvet softness riddled with holes
Warmth, burning fire, stoking your soul...

What is the point of laughing if you only want to...
What is the point of striving if you never want to...

The red velvet softness riddled with holes
Warmth, burning fire, stoking your soul...

Roused on a Sabbath ante meridiem
The breath was numbing foreign to his window...

Growth is dampened with choice
And as one grows as does the enormity of choice...

Perhaps the choice of love or lust
Is one that shadows the choice of trust...