Amarinthe

You praise the
And most went
Atone the mourns in me
I speak my peace
[?], flowered seas
But death desires the fathoms of the mind
[?], like all the time here
Take what you have
Yet I can't vouch what's real
Before some men
Betray the tears we've blacked

So sudden cold
Morning slow
Good morning slow
Sudden slow
Good morning slow

I ought to save the [?] and rails [?]
For sales [?]
And I kick my keep

[?] one of each
When's twine designed
[?] of clementines
[?]

Think what you have
But I can't vouch what's real
Or false on that
It's trail the tears we've blacked

So sudden cold
Morning slow
Cool morning so
Sudden slow
So sudden cold
Morning slow
Cool morning so
Sudden slow
Cool morning slow
Cool morning slow