Paroles 27 de Assailant (The)

Assailant (The)
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  • Artiste: Assailant (The)20978
  • Chanson: 27
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Textes et Paroles de 27




What a clever cleaver that pointing finger.
What a Judas that that sleeping head.
Saving skin, turning cheeks,
tip toeing and screening these unwanted phone calls.
I can hear her crotch-flavored mouth sighing
while in someone else's arms.
I can hear her friction-scarred thighs asking for amnesia.
We walked, our bare feet crushing neon signs up and down the avenue
and all I can think about is scratching my initials on her pale flesh.
Fermina.

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