Sunday, May 17, 2009

Blood & Sour Whipped Cream

Tastes black
You have to wait 3 hours
Take back
Set me free from my cell
Tastes foul
I'm perfectly same...
I'm angry, though
Where all those dreams have gone to?
Brother?
Why call me 'brother'?!
Sour whipped cream,
black leather brother...
Why even bother,
brother?
Tastes black.
Tastes foul.
It's not my blood, though.
It's not my blood, though.

17 may 2009

1 comment:

qbal said...

музика