Tell the leaves not to turn
But don't ever tell me I'll learn, no, no
Take the black off a crow
But don't tell me I have to go
Tell the bed not to lay
Like the open mouth of a grave, yeah
Not to stare up at me
Like a calf down on its
Blogado por Enio Martins @ julho 28, 2007 05:40 PM
Cadê o conto pop? É esse o conto pop?
Me perdi.