Charles Hice (May 13 2004 / Heaven)

Ewe can not sing to me when eye am sad.
Depression weighing down my brow.
A crown of thorns upon my forehead bleeding.
A frown upon the lips meant for kissing.
Wondering iff eye am bound to miss.
Pleasentries ammassed bequeathed to me,
wandering away from me, as i wonder witlissly,
as i wander aimlessly away from thee.
Struggiling amid the glory that will soon be mine.
Eye take myself to task, eye must not ruin bliss.
Sing to me my angel ewe, bring me words of love,
again eye ask ewe love, to be my deliverence.
I look on love askance, from my distant planet,
the place that eye am at, the snow upon my
covenant.Love should be my armament.
Where art thou Juliet ewe.
Bring to me my new delivery.
Kiss me eye am thirsty.
Bring to me my ewe.
My Violet Heart.
My Parme Love.
My Mourning Dew.
My new ewe.