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The heart cries, weeps and laments. Our tears are drunk by the ghosts roaming between us. One can but dream of a reunion, which will require the ultimate sacrifice. Meanwhile, the tombs around, made of hardened tears, are alive with memories of youth. While the autumn wind is felt in the back. See here a few laughs. A few wines a few beers. With pleasure I tell you. That the night will be long. I can hear you howling.
When someone would tell me that I had to write a paper, the first thing that would come to mind was, Why? One comment so far.
Forgot Password or Username? Deviant for 5 Years. This is the place where you can personalize your profile! Banksy, .
By moving, adding and personalizing widgets.
We can also cure your apathy. Please, join us! Versión en Español.