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7 марта 24, 03:40
Dmitry MetalLord
Лирика : Thought Industry : Mods Carve The Pig: Assassins, Toads, And God's Flesh : Patiently Waiting For Summer
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Patiently Waiting For Summer
Mods Carve The Pig: Assassins, Toads, And God's Flesh (1993)
Thought Industry
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8 февраля 10, 22:01
Here's my garden. Rowed lilacs drip purple. Crane
park's slick dawn dew. Twilight. Clock's twenty past
four. Packed five vitamin C blot Akbar gushing . Brian
climb soda need, Chuck, Chris, and Colin.
Apple trees stiff swirling circles. You are me are
more than perfect. Darling don't erase my blood.
Here's my garden. Zoo glare pond snapping.
Cricket's night opera. Moths float teasing possums.
Mice jest herons hysterical syrup slow. Sleep cream
siamese scratch walls. Girls, I don't care.
Mog the cat, and marble quarry. You and me should
quick get married. For I believe in no god; and no god
believes in me.
Kiss me, all right. Jane tastes spiced and learned red
wine. Hug me precious, our family picnics near. Pass
malt juice. Clutz spill on K-zoo.
Here's my garden. Grass to toll tar pillars. Melted
lanes reflect gins berg benches money. Ukraine
sculpture paisley gasoline. west edge hill stars burrow
down.
Suburb driving stealth headlights off. You and me
should burn our clothing, for I retreat from no god; and
no god retreats from me. Why? I lust july's sun.
park's slick dawn dew. Twilight. Clock's twenty past
four. Packed five vitamin C blot Akbar gushing . Brian
climb soda need, Chuck, Chris, and Colin.
Apple trees stiff swirling circles. You are me are
more than perfect. Darling don't erase my blood.
Here's my garden. Zoo glare pond snapping.
Cricket's night opera. Moths float teasing possums.
Mice jest herons hysterical syrup slow. Sleep cream
siamese scratch walls. Girls, I don't care.
Mog the cat, and marble quarry. You and me should
quick get married. For I believe in no god; and no god
believes in me.
Kiss me, all right. Jane tastes spiced and learned red
wine. Hug me precious, our family picnics near. Pass
malt juice. Clutz spill on K-zoo.
Here's my garden. Grass to toll tar pillars. Melted
lanes reflect gins berg benches money. Ukraine
sculpture paisley gasoline. west edge hill stars burrow
down.
Suburb driving stealth headlights off. You and me
should burn our clothing, for I retreat from no god; and
no god retreats from me. Why? I lust july's sun.
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