Against all odds, a weary smile on her face
A Roman Tribune in a time of revolution
A mystical being surrounded by plainness
A tip of tip of the hat to uninterested strangers
Mrs. Whitehouse glides through the crowds with grace
Thoughts of adversity are as blossoming rosebuds
A world without ties
Anything is possible with a wide brimmed hat
And the ears of an unsuspecting victim of truth
All things come to pass
Do you not realize Atlas can stumble?
Has not the thought of failure entered your mind?
Yet the tidal wave retreats back to sea
And the concerto plays on
God's hand dost prevail
A worried mind is pacified
I stand on broken ground amidst this earth
But I faithfully stand as I have since birth
1 comment:
what the. Austin! yours? you? this? yes?
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