Hear me. Hear me. Light. Emanating. Fingertips. The wall. The violent violins. Soon. Now. No rest for the psychodelic night. Weaving hands. Caressing the sky. Death has it's own smell.
Hear me. Hear me. Light. Emanating. Fingertips. The wall. The violent violins. Soon. Now. No rest for the psychodelic night. Weaving hands. Caressing the sky. Death has it's own smell.