Canterbury tales with there old magnum opus of the English society, foretold to be a pilgrim I speak of people living footprints in the sands of time, now've visioned the streets streets south side cribs, journey to discover the unknowns of this world as an inner spiritual path through my rearview all my eyes could see was blood, hungry for adventure in thee concrete streets they fear canines desire for crime.g
Serpent living in an Inn of vampires, wolf's and other creatures that symbolised the pilgrims hidden desire quirk to nature called him miscellaneous pope pellucid martyr of Canterbury cathedral, prey to thous creatures, Thomas of London Becket know 1162 archbishop of Canterbury history so profound he was a saint. we ourselves paint a picture of sight heavy in whom named it love, unloved love.
I could have been Lollard in world field with bright minds thanking myself for prayer condemned never lost sight of what is, will be right. Poetry tells it's own history of the writer Chaucer knew his work would be passed on centuries till now 24 stories running over 17,000 lines speak to me kinds hearts, poems older than Romeo loved Juliet bound philosophical art of wisdom.