Вершы: Don Martin Three. Otras Canciones. Fire As A Metaphor 2.
:
To watch crippled hands create a fire, to sketch an arrow, to burn beside her. The blood of pattern, the sound of eggs drop, our lips of old, oh how these robust hips burn.
To watch crippled hands create a fire, to sketch an arrow, to burn beside her. The blood of pattern, the sound of eggs drop, our lips of old, oh how these robust hips burn.
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