My back is cold, it's just a groove, it's just smoke, it is impalpable.
The white back, the skin is cool with me,
skin is cold on my skin.
The night is cruel and soulless.
the tears of desert arid and uncultivated.
's just smoke the memory, it's just a lie.
The white back is not on my side, it is impalpable illusion.
My skin is cold, as marble. That statue
happy, joyfully imprinted on a cold stare.
The skin is cold, it's so cool.
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