Thoughts are painful and sad
Try to get out of bed
Baby`s loveless and dead
And seems so pure
Clouds are going to melt
Reminds of grace that i felt
Put on your trousers and belt
So sweet and lure
Fed up with coffe machines
I`m near forty degrees
Child like me never wins
I`m trying to cure
Oh.
Your name is carved on a fence
And mine is lost with no sense
My God is beautiful nance
Seems so pure...
seems so pure
© Copyright: Кант Кникер, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №107031401816
Свидетельство о публикации №107031401816
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