Think to much

I get nothing … What the hell is this word every day

I hook up me like you

You make me happy and nervous

But then it pops up a feast

And you throw them out in the direct

Lying can be done

But not for long

I have not learned anything

Gabble only emerges from the spring-time feeling soon

It can’t hold me down

What kind of factor, we are

I happened to think more

You hate when I really feel away

Advertisements