Il mio thread sul suicidio stiloso me lo impedisce.
Il mio thread sul suicidio stiloso me lo impedisce.
I'm laying down, eating snow
My fur is hot, my tongue is cold
On a bed of spider web
I think of how to change myself
A lot of hope in a one man tent
There's no room for innocence
So take me home before the storm
Velvet mites will keep us warm.
Permessi di Scrittura
