Текст песни Para-Mi - Письмо из одних пробелов
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На этой странице находится текст песни Para-Mi - Письмо из одних пробелов, а также перевод песни и видео или клип.
зачерствевшими снимками, холоднее, чем снегири. А сейчас есть ты, от которого ничего не осталось. но который остается сам. На ночь. Когда за поворотом обрываются фонари.
Пьешь мой загар на ключицах, под волосами, без запятых, без слов ласковых, человечьих.
Я… А что я?
Смотрю умирающими глазами,
кусая
предплечье. Probably too raucous those lips , too , probably , sharp heels into the spine of asphalt and the skin doors and rude and abrupt and body shivering , naked , wiring , and I would drink a Coke and all that Kars , and silently pray Algoane and Lacroix and ssadinki to hid under tonalnik , gentle , white-hot , remember to debility and house number , and you sleepy , and myself , hysterical , and how to back out of the coma , out of the room and listened to a passing train decibels , in the morning it looked like - it's not so scary, is not so painful - a letter from some gaps , the girl to keep warm and humid wind straining passionately kissed wooden door dried up smiles narrowed ashtrays in the back pockets , in April , his eyes were already in the fall - brown , yellowish -rvanye , always saying how little it got me over the eight weeks , they say, with someone I was lost , bright and distant , and his heart is crushed into tiny joints that tortured , bitch , this boy's warm ! .. gone from his loneliness on the soles . Called , no, of course , called and urged muffled " Les , in general , it is ... please come ," pretended something was wrong with your hearing , his best friend drew on my chest language. I lay down under the form of fingers under his wide sleek body , and a year later my eyes eats away all these photos , I'm timid , his rude " tired ", and how these people were in me as long as I could isplakat everything said hastily, they both liked so much white little T-shirt , which is now close scratches on his shoulders, all aspirated heart. In short , there were both
stale snapshots , colder than bullfinches . And now you have , from which nothing remains. but which remains itself . For the night. As for turning the lights are broken .
Drink my tan on collarbone , under the hair , no commas , no affectionate words , man .
I ... What am I?
Watching the dying eyes,
biting
forearm.
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