Vives en amor y silencio...
Pero no todos me dan descanso.
Solo quedarán un poco esos
Por la sangre de infantes y niños.
Nadie sabe de antemano,
Tengo ganas de salir ahora.
De eso no se volvió manso
Y se irá olvidando de Dios.
¿No has oído?
Pero curiosamente todo es más brillante.
Mi escritura es desafortunada.
Así que todos susurraron, con una ceja inclinada.
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A ty ile masz lat?
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Memory I want someone who wanted to do the right thing, someone who in another time might have even been... a friend?
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