When the words become just special orders,
When the feelings get lying treats,
And days as kinks, weeks as kicks,
Some songs transfer into flying gears.
Hair curls of the wind, touching thunder peals.
I'm staying under passes, roared with laughters
More sinful bliss;
Hair Curls
© Copyright: Ксе Васильева, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114090909611
Свидетельство о публикации №114090909611
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