| The bloody wheel hides behind the horizon, the same, only white, kill, kill a dream
|
| In the bathroom by the washbasin, a demonic pill for a pale ** alnic.
|
| I don't let people in here, I'm always busy urgently, stuck forever, like a sectarian,
|
| demon of fear.
|
| "Open Roma" - go fuck yourself! |
| Have you seen rusty tiles?
|
| Rough plaque, waffle shaft lips like ice,
|
| Give white drops to them with scarlet ones, sprinkle their whole mouth with spice, invite them.
|
| Rake sunken pipes in flight. |
| Have you seen old carpets? |
| BUT? |
| soiled pile,
|
| Why does she need a pipe cable? |
| A difficult question, caressing a hackneyed flower with your fingers
|
| Between the legs, like that faded sheet of roses, the eyes are clear as a spring - this is the end.
|
| They are pure of shame, this is the end, more menacing than weight, the intrigues of the demon of all -
|
| This body is young in sweat for crazy pleasures, children of Caesarean.
|
| Tell me, too, that the nets of the demon are being pulled not to hell, it’s another senseless to drive something
|
| He himself is attracted by shamelessly spread legs and a shaved wet honeycomb.
|
| Mmmmm, go away, not because of the article, but because of love: "yes, don't be stupid don't be stupid"
|
| A schoolgirl with a raised sweater, next to a f**king boy, without a bazaar will give
|
| kl * tor you.
|
| New flight, unloved world, unloved time, unloved male cancer girl in
|
| bathroom *et.
|
| Calm as ice, and hands warm the camp, the other has already stuck, clapping into the astral
|
| Dangerously baby, passionately baby, for some reason hastily threw off the white bows from her head
|
| baby,
|
| But the evening will embrace and forgive, chastity will take away not sadness, from now on you will grow,
|
| dear, and grow.
|
| Under someone's quotes, in the little head, pulsing youth,
|
| children of infected packs,
|
| Courage courage courage courage become a cancer and give, welcome to the social
|
| barn.
|
| Drug tower paradise, come to me baby, burn out.
|
| Bows in the mud, ha, but we are not princes, worn out by a viscous maiden,
|
| but alas, everything is on her ointment
|
| Here he cut down his balancer, wine and snow. |
| Will ask again. |