Mistaken identity

Drinking passion from the heart of time, the scene of the crime was a good friend of mine. Thirty-seven keys for twenty-one rooms, thirty-one boxes if you count the family of moons, and the drinks are getting stronger and the taste is lasting longer. I promised that they would be in the song but then it all went wrong. Now the heart of time is weeping because guilt is sick of sleeping. How much pain will seep into what you’re trying to keep again? I’ve heard that there’s a secret train leaving today for all the sane young ladies who just want to dance and dance themselves into a trance, but wistful thinking doesn’t come for free. It’s hard to win so easily. Conventions are the inventions of the blind and lonely. A case of mistaken identity. A case of mistaken identity. A case of mistaken identity. A case of misplaced reality. All the reservations have been covered in blue, all the hesitations have been too, and the links are getting weaker and the master and the speaker don’t really want to seek the meek until the end of the week. Now the heart of time is crying because guilt is sick of lying. How much pain will fly into the who, when, and why? The hotel of spring in the summer of night. Maybe it’ll turn out all right. Please remove before use because there’s no money back guarantee, not for the likes of me and you and them and us and you and me, so come and sing a song of joy and songs of praise and feel amazed at the wonderful and beautiful and terrifying visions of our mistaken identity.