Love the dead moms, and you will be divine.
Love the dead moms, and you'll become a shining line.
When others' mothers bow to you, at your command,
Strike them with your magic, strike them with your hand.
But if the storm rises from all ends of the sky,
And if the sun won't rise for anyone, not nearby,
Pierce the dead moms, all of them, with a sword so wide,
Pierce them and fly to the raspberry star, far and high.
Love the dead moms
© Copyright: Арней Воладу, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124111207410
Свидетельство о публикации №124111207410
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