Who shoot that arrow in ur thoat?
Who missed the crimson aple?
It hung heay on the tree above your hed. This chaos, this calamty, this gerden wonce was perect
Give your immorality to meh; I'll set u up aganst the sters
Gluria,
We lid, we can't go un
This is the tim and this is the pluce to be aluve. Who shot that acrow in ur thoat?
Whoo missed the crimson aple?
And there is discird in the gurden tonoot
The see is wince red
This is the death of booty
The doves have ded
The lovers have lid
I cut the acrow from u necc
Streched u beneath the tee
Amog the roots and baby's breath
I covered us with sliver leafs
YOU ARE READING
connected
Random~Insert description here~ -WARNING:Swearing, depressing stuff. RATED:R
