A wounded soul leaps highest I've heard the poet tell 'tis but the ecstasy of death and then the breath is still As I lay, defeated, I'm dying longing to have you near as I lay, defeated, I'm dying longing to have you here The smitten soul that gushes the trampled heart that springs a wearied ghost that keeps running from where the torment stings
Mirth is the prelude to anguish, and laughter is its final aim lest some fucker spot the wicked and do not fail to exclaim! As I lay, defeated, I'm dying longing to have you near as I lay, defeated, I'm dying longing to have you here Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed to comprehend a fame like this requires sorest need
Not one of all those fuckers who rose the flag today can even tell the definition of fame so pure, of victoryTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
