It's a greeting day from the morning Sun as the moss grows into light
Caving in the averages of time
It's a beautiful lackadaisical ethic from my barren mind
I'm running out of time
The feelings brought from the distant trumpets
Separate into the pulsing summints
A mind
Covered in this grime
The language brought from the distant trumpets carved into my spine
Don't know to go when they so might
Tenha acesso a benefícios exclusivos no App e no Site
Chega de anúncios
Badges exclusivas
Mais recursos no app do Afinador
Atendimento Prioritário
Aumente seu limite de lista
Ajude a produzir mais conteúdo