So, get up and gather around, everyone.
I’m withering. Dying. Trembling from trying. Barely crawling.
Here stands a silver lined believer. Not believing.
Will sing of the weighed down times now behind me.
And I’ll be moving.
And I’ll be grooving.
Статистика страницы на pesni.guru ▼
Просмотров сегодня: 1