Mould unto me, the unleavened bread. Knead it with hands cold and stone. Fold into three stitched in heavens own thread, Darned from the bands (Golden sewn). Drive out the sins from material things, Air from the rays off the sun. Alive to the whims of a serial sting, As fair, are the days of the run. And sold to the sea in a mariners eye, Laid at rest in a basket of thorn. Bold it would be, where the carrion fly, Made jest with a casket of corn. Yet soar, from this place, Of the bold, ruddy sky. Sewing the seed as you go. As sure as the lace is a bloody goodbye, Eschewing your deeds far below.Birth sign: Gemini
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