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• Artiste: Mars Volta (The)
• Titre: Soothsayer
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INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
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Autrement, nous ne pouvons les corriger pas! Merci pour votre aide.
My love becomes a mange Dyeing autumn in its leaves When it broke me in the branch Where my antlers come to feed And I swam a hundred days In the bosom of this drought As I tighten this belt This deceit has no arms Bended will take what's yours Calling me she's calling me This it may have come to falter We Have become these pleads In a Field of balding marble Where the medicine awaits The hourglass pokes at The ribs of my cage At half rations I'm finished At half rations the minutes All that happens was given Coil and embrace This deceit has no arms Bended will take what's yours calling me shes' calling me This it may have come to falter We have become these pleads