6 acessos
The Summer I
Simmered simple in the sand,
No tongue- tied
Mum and dumb,
The comb, it just
Found itself in my hand
I stood when I
Should I run.
A conspiracy
Those fellows and me
And the comb, the way it's going
Hardly I
Hardly I
Hardly I knew him
But he had to die.
To establish
Whereabouts, where for?
If guilty, flawed or more
The world would find me
Sprawled on the floor
A vulgar foreigner
A conspiracy
Those fellows and me
And the comb, the way it's going
Hardly I
Hardly I
Hardly I knew him
But he had to die.