This talk is in cursive but there's no more ink.The bodies are scorched to the roots and stuck in the places where nothing happens and nothing lies beyond the gateways. Time pours bleach on colors carelessly and moves in with heavy old cabinets of insomnia. Bleach. Restore. Rebuild. Destroy. This emptiness has a weight of a man and a rope walking hand in hand with nobody
Гуру Песен