I could have hoped for a better piece of your man. Better times I wrote for glass, less, wind.
From both behinds in back, we’re reaching one of each, in time. Heart like a picture to be.
Hardly, we reach.
I could have hoped for a better piece of your man. Better times I wrote for glass, less, wind.
From both behinds in back, we’re reaching one of each, in time. Heart like a picture to be.
Hardly, we reach.