I'm jingle in puddle of Mudd
My soul bell will not heald,
I'm guess, darling, you're glad
But yours mad maths be appealed
In that hypocrisy
posture of good teacher
Yours preaching will be the Last.
In the book of don't touch her
Im wrote your name, and it's saying – you will be the past
With best regards
I'm perish, like a waterfall, through fingers, like a dust...
Someday you will...
© Copyright: Илья Ушанов, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123070802733
Свидетельство о публикации №123070802733
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