Have you ever seen a bloody soul?
You'll be crying by for this soul-if once again meeting her?
What is love? The love in the throat like exist of the world is singularity with serendipity. We notice for that; we're keeps too many of secrets.
We're ain't some fools, we're just one keeps many of mysterious.
Are you playing with guitar your own of the soul?
We'll be to write too much of poems 'bout the night of the evil.
When bringing up back a roses we'll be see by move with a beatifull flowers.
Горло.
© VB ARt 48
