I missed ...
... not where I am ...
... If you ask me,
say that I am dead.
say that I am dead.
Let's stop writing music, a self lost in the time, a few grams of opium and a bunch of drunkard writing in Copenhagen bulerías warm-blooded. And count ten before know how hard it is to tell tonight , sleepless that there is no value to sleep and feel at the worst of your nightmares favorite , stopping dams to enclose the water ...
drunk again.
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