B
blueorchidjd
Guest
Like a faucet that is carelessly dripping in a glass house,
The floors are cold
And the windows are shattered.
All through the eclectic rhythm of nature,
The sun wipes his brow
And the songbirds rest their weary heads.
The floors are cold
And the windows are shattered.
All through the eclectic rhythm of nature,
The sun wipes his brow
And the songbirds rest their weary heads.