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footprint poem

sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
dio
morbido come la base nella terra
semplicemente parlando
il bambino che ha gettato via il foglio dopo il foglio
con gli occhi meek e marroni
la mia anima va placcata nelle cose gorgeous
parla non bene
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
non giri la vostra testa
una storia molto notevole questo è
il più triste dell'anno
se lo slayer rosso pensa slays
che probabilità spiteful ruba i unawares

 



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