It’s hard to go out again the old devil and the rain. Little box is locked away, secrets can’t be revealed. And the hope that the time and the silence will make disappear the shame. So, we dig and we put the trunk in order to forget. Then, he says that “curiosity is a naughty fault, and, him, alive: nobody will know!” Secrets are well kept, promises are made. Let’s live in a world of silence, sit down on tons of lies. Mayday, I think we’ve got a problem.
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