win
Remembrance of Things Past
I swarm deserted away, like glass...
Warm, and as fevers,
I am as flame.
I am death...
For I, I weave our blasphemies...
Wicthes painted me,
Like the mysteries created me...
Like where the poets breathe,
I were woven into blasphemies.
χειροτερο fail που εχω δει στο θρεντ ως τωρα
μπας και πηγαινε για τον μεγαλον αδερφο?
οχι οτι ειναι και φτυστοι αλλα κατι γινεται εκει