domingo, 20 de diciembre de 2009
words act like guns, too bad i'm out of bullets.
"Poca hambre y todos quietos.
Que huele a apetito y sólo hay pistola para cenar."
I just stared at the floor while he kept speaking.
All I could think is that the decisions you didn't make are the steps to the plentiful happiness you aborted.
Conclusions are always fashionably late.
Suscribirse a:
Enviar comentarios (Atom)
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario