You know: I lose you again and I can not. Like a shot I adjusted
sommuove
every work, every cry is also the spirit that overflows
salt from the docks and makes the dark spring of
Sottoripa.
Region of iron and trees to the forest in the dust of evening.
com'unghia distressing to the glasses. Find the sign
lost, who once had only a pledge in favor
from you.
And hell is certain.
