Blowsom — Sun

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Текст Blowsom — Sun

Take the words, the sun they cannot misly
The feel, the tears, the nothing’s sad still
The taste, the dizzy pointman does not exist
The trade and traps, the feeling but nothing’s that real

The coming breathes and friends
Can, can, can
They really wanna speech him
All the sand spreads
Shaved…

The night, the trick, the funeral of the great son
They couldn’t, was worse than the ants all the
The taste of the expectation is coming just fine
The trade and traps, the feeling

But nothing’s that real
The light of sheeps is driving down
The storage of lost clouds
Imagine that planes seen stage of huge crowds

The echo tease pears
No ones the follows fade out
You call me weird and friends

Can, can, can, can
They really wanna speech him
All the sand spreads
Shaved…

You call me … and frase
Again, again, again
They really wanna speech him
All the sand spreads
Shaved…