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spikes_slave
I remeber nothing.
Dec 06, 2006 20:29
My boxers are icy from my pants hanging low (
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where at night the wood grouse plays
anonymous
December 7 2006, 11:53:33 UTC
When through the starry night
the mists of autumn glide
the air is filled with tragedies of olden times
Where with a dreadful tone
a nightbird plays its song
in forest dark at moors they come to life...
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Comments 1
the mists of autumn glide
the air is filled with tragedies of olden times
Where with a dreadful tone
a nightbird plays its song
in forest dark at moors they come to life...
Reply
Leave a comment