Hatred was like the flames of the oven. The roaring
glass window was his old and twisted face.
He was like a trapped beast. From left to right, the
silver razor rubbed his face and we heard him singing
cherries softly. The blood of the blood, blooming in the stench of London, the
guests gobbled it up, the smell of meat of the same kind,
but he was still waiting, in the black smoke, the fragrance of the bones of the enemy, the
sharpened throat is still gushing, and the heart of the trapped beast is still trembling
at Last, i'll kill you
blond hair is full of mud, just like
love that is blackened by hatred as an excuse for a conscience , a lie is a fresh soul
He looks at the woman
who says love in the fireworks He holds the cold body in
his arms He raises his head , The boy ended his sinful life on the
roof, the girl was still in panic, the unknown destiny was
in the stench-filled city of London. . . .
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