Feel the cold blood in my throat,
Taste the pleasure of the sea.
Your secret weapon is the stoat,
Which will eat me like a flea.
Write a song 'bout all the pain
Full of whispers in my mind.
I am Abel, you are Cain.
Leave the people, who are blind.
Our rosy future will never decay,
Buried in two little graves.
You had better just stay away
From one of this huge rouge waves.
two little graves
© Copyright: Токмакова Катерина, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117062809262
Свидетельство о публикации №117062809262
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