with horns A paper cut bleeds like a cut vein Could this sky open up and accept this tortured soul But my wings have yet to work, work, work, work, have
Could I end my life with a knife sharpened of problems sweet satisfaction of a night sky with horns a papercut bleeds like a cut vein could this sky
Превод: Поисон Тхе Велл. Жеља за Крила Тај посао.
a night sky with horns a papercut bleeds like a cut vein could this sky open up and accept this tortured soul but my wings have yet to work change
