painful, as if a part of me dies
each time a new portion arrives
of news. who is judging this time?
my muse, i lost the count of crimes
refuse to be right, to be wrong
just cry, just prey and just hold
my dear, my loved as tight as I can
keep safe my sanity and my men.
painful
© Copyright: Анетта Мор, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126030100723
Свидетельство о публикации №126030100723
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