Wash



Clim

Is all we know

When thaw

Is not below us

No can't grow up

In that iron ground

Claire all too sore for sound

Bet

Is hardly shown

Scraped

Across the foam

Like they stole it

And oh how they hold it

Claire we nearly forfeit

I I'm growing like the quickening hues

I I'm telling darkness from lines on you

Over havens fora full and swollen morass young habitat!

All been living alone where the ice snap and the hold clast are known

Home

Were savage high

Come

We finally cry

Oh and we don it

Because it's right

Claire I was too sore for sight

I were sewing up through the latchet greens

I un-peel keenness honey bean for bean

Same white pillar tone as with the bone street sand is thrown where she
Stashed us at

All been living alone where the cracks at in the low part of the stoning
Rating: 10/10 - 1 votes







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