T.W. North

It's a long march from here to fertile ground
From the birth of the girl until the beautiful is crowned
I keep my eyes set on the green acre
And shield my gaze from the knowledge of monsieur the maker

How long until it's out of reach forever?
Will I have the time needed to endeavour?

I beg for it
I can't pray for it
I beg for it
Won't it come to me?

It's a long way up this democracy
But the beautiful considers it a theocracy
Keep ready words for justification
It can take an eternity for divine salvation

How far underneath is my desperation?
Will I have the honour of the sensation?

I beg for it
I can't pray for it
I beg for it
Won't it come to me?

Tom

Maybe it was a matter of opinion, but I disliked this peace. Especially in the 4th verse, I thought it was a little too wordy. I did however enjoy both of your two line verses, flowed nicely.

Tom.

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