Thin
Will You Pressure Passion Thin?
Will you pressure passion thin?
I won't pain thee for my sin
You dost say with candid lips,
"Carry me not, thy wounded hips."
But I, I can take thee home
Passing patience as I roam
The cold stars above have shone
Where I may place my time alone
Your work will not carve the stone
Nor shall it summon the throne
So I further along push
Past withered tree, boulder, and bush
Will you pressure passion thin?
I won't pain thee for my sin
You dost say with candid lips,
"Carry me no, thy wounded hips."
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