Often in the face of the evening between the fingers
sings a melancholy song
a sweet dough with the night wind
a sad memory and loss is the most loyal friend of the
she
tingling sometimes silvery smiles on the beach so that the initial vulnerability
broken innocence
small town in the far far north
guitar fills the bitter sweet, silent alarms in the evening ring
fuzzy silhouette gradually dissolved into the twilight like a cuckoo-like pathos
in drop by drop through lonely
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