sábado, 6 de febrero de 2010

He's got eyes of the bluest skies as if they thought of rain i hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain his hair reminds me of a warm safe place where as a child I'd hide and pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by sweet child o' mine sweet love of mine, where do we go, where do we go now.

No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario