Clean me up, clean me up;
caress me while you clean me up
and crave what I crave, to the core of no scorn
with the caliber of a crane craning over for the cane.
Yes, I'm a clade, a quiet clade
of crescent beams and crowns of thorns.
The blood caused by the cruel, cruel ,cruel cantors
can be cleaned by your sweetness, clafouti concoction
or conditions of goodness,
from cologne of cherries to class of carries.
Carry me to clarity with a core so merrily caring.
If that makes sense, clean me up quick; if not, case closed.
Caress your soul in scarlet
if you ever close the case that you created.
Even the clades of crescent beams and crescendos
can't keep with your selfishness, so let me clean your clade quick...
BINABASA MO ANG
Mahal-lika!
PuisiIs love just a a collection of feelings for one? Is it just a sweet section of chocolate for one? Hearken! My heart beats faster, the box shakes stronger -- Mahal-lika! Let us tell their stories of love divine, their love full of sin!
