I feel like a
To see my life in bed
As a fixed idea
Whenever I am told
The wound is this:
Is that she grows too fast
The weed harms
It is there that I have an idea:
Able to to feel sorry
It's just my luck
I suffer quietly
I expect my pain
Its mouth is so sweet
I feel like a
To see my life in bed
Like a sad idea
That haunts me at night - the night - the night
I enjoy the night
The idea of eternity
The weed harms
Because she never dies
When all is gray
The trouble is my friend
A long suicide acid
I love you melancholy
feeling that
Leads me to infinity
Mixture of worst of my desire,
I love you melancholy
When all is gray
The trouble is my friend
I have too wet the soul
My whole being capsizes
Oh come I pray you
This is your friend too
It is the elixir of my deliriums
I love you melancholy
I feel like a
To see my life in the air
Whenever I am told
It's a weed
And I say:
That a savage born
Estimated to be worth
Does well worth being estimated
After all she often scoffs at
To "too much" grown and toc !
It's just my luck
I suffer quietly
I expect my pain
Its mouth is so sweet
I have as an idea
Of morality
Like a sad idea
But that never dies
In short is this:
To please the jealous
Must be ignored
But then, but then, but then, for once
It is God that planted me, then ? ...