Base can enter my spirit voice <br />to come out from the feet of my legs <br />My artillery may sloop and head may die <br />The world is about to kill myself <br />It has already crown myself <br />A range that amour gurgling spizzle <br />and wet an aura of ridding suns <br /> <br />Why not meditate, who measures fruit <br />of our quad <br />and why not it an unnecessary good? <br />Or who tend for tepid things <br />The spirit is dead <br />and the sun is lumped <br /> <br />Touch of the universe from ultimate <br />fusion, bearing the blood who swears <br />and fears that drops from the mouth <br />The baling eye that see darkness in the <br />coast of the house of sight <br />Raptors faith of tomorrow’s morrow <br /> <br />I need thermometer <br />I want to know the temp of mars <br />Earth and Jupiter must know <br />Do you mars, still breath in blood? <br />For the stars counted, where two million <br />and half<br /><br />Ebi Robert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mars-messiah/
