Teaming of cold angles,

Yellow in its breaming,

Dying early at night.

 

Guttered rat,

Which teals the ground,

Broken edges at the banquet.

 

Hollowing the precious thin,

A serpentine tincture of handy men,

Because a stream struck a chord within.

 

Beneath a creep,

The kingdom come,

Rotting hearts of deathly grace.

 

It streaks the blue,

A red in lines,

And asks another question.

 

Picking hands,

Beneath cold robes,

Defended by the holy word.

 

God’s grace in heaven,

Be by thy nature,

Selfish never forgiven.