Sun

Take the words, the sun they cannot misly The feel, the tears, the nothing's sad still The taste, the dizzy pointman does not exist The trade and traps, the feeling but nothing's that real The coming breathes and friends Can, can, can They really wanna speech him All the sand spreads Shaved... The night, the trick, the funeral of the great son They couldn't, was worse than the ants all the The taste of the expectation is coming just fine The trade and traps, the feeling But nothing's that real The light of sheeps is driving down The storage of lost clouds Imagine that planes seen stage of huge crowds The echo tease pears No ones the follows fade out You call me weird and friends Can, can, can, can They really wanna speech him All the sand spreads Shaved... You call me ... and frase Again, again, again They really wanna speech him All the sand spreads Shaved...