terça-feira, 17 de maio de 2011
My hours are so races when I'm with you, even if virtual.
My hours are pretty when I'm with you, this dream real.
My hours are long trite and without you, in solitude.
My hours becomes tormentor mistreating my heart.
Transforms my hours looking for you, even in the frame
My hours are hot, with your love, your warmth and tenderness.
My hours seem so lonely eternity when finally I will have happiness?
I spend my hours, sometimes like a meninosem judge.
My meparecem things with my love of paradise