Paroles de Of Mites And Men
My heart is not clean,Your table is green,
Too collect my things,
The harvest of every men,
Is in the can.
In a single city,
A strand in your hand,
Where all your men live to study you,
And eat you where you live,
Get down.
A strand in your hand,
Where all your men live to study you,
And eat you where you live,
Get down.
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