Dolls and shells, dolls and shells. Three sheets to the wind, and swollowed by fortunes twisted spells. An empty hand for a lifeless eye glimmer lost and wasted and spent on hallowed stifled ties. I preach to the converting with a tounge less disconcerting and a name pulled forth from ashes scattered when the fruits of our labour hardly mattered. The poor obessions of solanka. Crash meets head in a blur of demons lost and fired fed betting these last inches of rope on a new machine left for dead. Wasting years praying for solanka an uncharted mind embracing spirits of another kindTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
