I'm going to put difficult.
What to do with the anger when a fire that burns inside your gasoline fueled by cheap?
Your eyes no longer be those dreams to become artificial skies were sold to children at a fair settlement.
I want to run, it calms me down. Tired of walking your memory inert and apathetic as the wilderness trail that leads me to the infinite desire to live a morning without your arms.
lazily writing to not explode. Mending the stories that have deteriorated through your fingers, watching the Christmas present I could ever give you and listening to the rain that we never share, I think I can make you disappear like a mirage, as it will never exist, as the wine is no longer is.
How ironic that can make a heart in tachycardia. No one ever devoted two lines to you and made you dream of flying, we disposed of hypocrisy, believing you have conquered me, I took and I nicknamed you twice, and you, just you, to the most fearless, I made two texts one for me, another for my anger.
Now you can tell your God, you pray together that you become what I could not, to have mercy on your map and phone banks. Turn every 12 candles, one for each apostle, one for each month of the year I suffer.
With the same conviction that always leaves your be ethereal, I'm going to put difficult. More than you could ever imagine. You will be just a rusty spring in the midst of tremendous ennui that slowly consumes you. A spring that never dared to jump off the nauseating pit to the palace.
Spinetta sings "The Marcapiel" and through us with his words: "Today everything is asleep and here was a word after the air crashes, look like anything. "
Lucrecia was the creative mind that brought the title to this post when I could not think that arming pun. Thanks Lu!
What to do with the anger when a fire that burns inside your gasoline fueled by cheap?
Your eyes no longer be those dreams to become artificial skies were sold to children at a fair settlement.
I want to run, it calms me down. Tired of walking your memory inert and apathetic as the wilderness trail that leads me to the infinite desire to live a morning without your arms.
lazily writing to not explode. Mending the stories that have deteriorated through your fingers, watching the Christmas present I could ever give you and listening to the rain that we never share, I think I can make you disappear like a mirage, as it will never exist, as the wine is no longer is.
How ironic that can make a heart in tachycardia. No one ever devoted two lines to you and made you dream of flying, we disposed of hypocrisy, believing you have conquered me, I took and I nicknamed you twice, and you, just you, to the most fearless, I made two texts one for me, another for my anger.
Now you can tell your God, you pray together that you become what I could not, to have mercy on your map and phone banks. Turn every 12 candles, one for each apostle, one for each month of the year I suffer.
With the same conviction that always leaves your be ethereal, I'm going to put difficult. More than you could ever imagine. You will be just a rusty spring in the midst of tremendous ennui that slowly consumes you. A spring that never dared to jump off the nauseating pit to the palace.
Spinetta sings "The Marcapiel" and through us with his words: "Today everything is asleep and here was a word after the air crashes, look like anything. "
Lucrecia was the creative mind that brought the title to this post when I could not think that arming pun. Thanks Lu!
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