On Jesus's Tales : Belief, What I Ever Meant Of This Mere Natural Phrase ?, To Chase The Mere Mortals Or His Morality To Caress, For The Nature To Dress With His Embrace, With Leafs, With Stalks, With Shallow Tangled Vineyards To The Mortal Loss, With Breeze Enough To Sweep The Very Human Ghastly Gore, Love To The Midst To Strangle The Abhorrent Show, So Pure To Purify The Impurities Of Such Impudent Smiles, For The Stakes Called To Divine, For The Divinity To Shine, In The Mines Of Those Dreads Once Dug To Reconcile, For Those Endangered Abstract Eyes To Foresee What Lies, In The Kingdom He Seeks, To Glance The Mere Mortal Needs, Faith, What Faith Was To This Sanity Ever ?, He Spoken To It, The Very Ballad Of His Realm Never, Ever To The Broken Stones, The Teared Grass, The Broken Smeared Gentle White Tars, In The Very Blood, The Wine Of The Very Earthly Cast, In His Kingdom He Seeks, The Broken At This Feets, The Blind To See What Lies Beneath This Drowsy Little Breaths, The Leprose Be Pleased To The Very Earthly Nile, For His Whimsical, Ghastly, Dear Father To Smile, Faith, Was Just His Dearest Preached Orchestra , To This Mere Mortal Terra, To Believe His Belief, For The Sake Of Believing The Impeccable Immaculate, The Heart Of Clay That Brimmed To Breath, The Breath Whisked With Gentleness With Each Dearest Erst , The Very Smile He Ever Laid To Someone's Face, The Very Light His Smile Ever Bowed To The Disabled, To Be Truthful To The Heart Wrenched Galland Gales Of Whisky Brisky Galls Of Twisted Truths, For The Bruises So Shallow Edged With Raw Laughs, The Very Gentle Spirit Of The Holy, Graciously Cradles Those Very Coughs, Faith Is His Charter To Seek A Man, To Witness The Truth With Cursed Meticulous Ballads, To Believe His Being To Beings Conscience, To Treat The Very Wrath With Gentleness Sweeped Gracious Smiles, To Love, To Live A Beautiful Drastic Lie, With Busted Souls, With Wrenched Fouls, Treachery's Moulds, In The Man's Terra, The Bustling Busted Trenches Of The Man's Wine, A Horde Of Those Delicate Lies, In The Fathoms To Dine , The Blood And The Crimson Skies, To This Bespoken Teared Braised King He Called, To His Unspoken Treacherous Manly Realms, The King Sinful Of His Dearest Battered Stacked Sins, The Sinner Of Those Sins He Was Destined To Be Sinful Of, Not The Very Sin He Sinned To, The Gluttony Of Him To Praise The Lord, The Orchestrated God He Hymned To Abhor, The Facade He Trenched To Brine The Very Souls In The Wine Of Cana, In The Withered Shredded Bearded Greased Lazarus's Plaza, He Was But A Faith To The Cultist Of His Culture Of The Revered Endangered Foreseen Lord, A Lord Speaking In Ornamented Material Parables He Called, To Seek His Preached Treacherous Realm Of Man In The Words Of Mortal Gods, To Damn The Damnation Of His Calls, He Chose, The Broken Sheep, The Old Bended Twisted Intaken Shepherd, With A Very Loved Hall, Just Spoken Of An Unwithered To Understand, To Seek That Ritualized Abhorrent Something, Which Is Something To The Damnation And To Their Inverse Invasive Incumbent Seeking, Seeks To Be That Manifested Groaned Something, Not That Bruised Impeccable Something When Being Seen To The Withered Shredded Piece Of That Very Oconee Bell's Leaf, Unsheathes To The Heath Of Something, He Ever Tried To Seek, His Tales, Impeccable Immaculate Drooled To This Mortal Fools Of This Weathered Grass, They Seek To The Flower Of Heinous Blooded Brass, To Seek The Shimmering Starving Crippling Of Fools, The Mere Astonishing Abolishing Scrutinous Divine Tools, To This Mortal Realm Of, The Luscious Blooded Grass, The Cold Blooded Hay, The Stillness Of That Wining Past, The Blood Dread Soothing Deaths Ever Cheering Hearts, The Little Belittle Unveiling Lord He Said To Errand, Too Fragile, Too Shriveled, Too Blatantly Blandly Vigorously Shredded To The Forsaken, The Man's Indisputable Indispensable Slithering Shuttering, Too Twisted To Understand.