Trust, is sleeping in the back seat of the car...
Love, is your mother cutting an apple and giving...

With beauty herself draped in your word
Sounding the veins of any who heard...

The body vanished
The soul continues to march...

Sounds of coarse disdain
This man stands on baseless words...

I will try to love as you
Walk in every shoe...

This smile no longer reaches my eyes
For it has become the perfect guise...

I’ve been to an island of thieves
Where my only pleasure was the passing breeze...

Extensive years
Is not nearly enough...

I will welcome Hell with open arms
As any mother would...

You’ll know these words before you die
‘People live to sanctify...

When they come
They will mock and boast...

O Lady Lorde
We give to thee...