Jun 27, 2015
A smoke a fog and a black cloud soaked into Made of concrete labyrinth`s walls called mystery And penetrated then through Easily like finger put into the water Aiming no target blindly finds its way The place for the key in the centre of my head Known to my army and my enemies` forced The smell of victory in corridors surrounds me In the beginning of the battle pointing me the winner
Zmarnować wszystko w zamian za cień autystycznego uśmiechu. Uczciwa wymiana. Stokrocie, czekam na Cię dwudziestej wiosny.