There will be laughs and also joyful twirls Your painted toenails kicking in the sand Lazy fish crisscrossing and the seas Will lay their golden eggs right in their hand When we become When we become When we become what we're running from The storm clouds swallowed by the ocean sway Will smell like watermelon and cut grass We'll build a bonfire with whatever's dry And leave our cold, wet bodies where they lay When we become When we become When we become what we're running from
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Vyšlo na albech
