In these day's, human's have a fantisy about, faith. To, see is, to believe. If I was to stubble, and fall, God please pick me up, but, you should have to dust off, my knees. For, today we, Earth, are more grown-up.
For, all man should believe, in the exsistance, of at least his own, reality. Be, it has the Bible say's, in my image, is my true exsistance, today. That, might imply, that even, God, get's the fact, that he is dead.
To the poet, the Man above Man, let this song written about me, even considered to be, rough. Stand has word's that I have spoken, sang, amoungest, their reader's. For, this is about, my Son, to you I call, God.
For all, the reality, is God, should send down his hand and chaulk, his own dead body outline, for you to get, that we don't by, the name, you use.
For, my future poet, reader's, in reality I like to live, and this World, should take heed, to the warning, that, do not, take us, else where. For, we have done together, what the one, could not do alone, hence Adam, ask for Eve.
A song to sing
To that which is the Height's of, Heaven, that is above our Heaven, to you Christ, let more color, rain. For, alway's this is to you.
Originally Posted On Site: 2010-02-13 00:52:51
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