The Path Of Least Persistence (Figure Ii) Testo

That wouldn❝t lend a hand
Though this dead was a thoughtless act
With alcohol intact
Quietly she seeks the day to pass
With those stitches that you clean
You hold your flag of your doleful plea
Now there❝s nothing left to recall
A fruitless title bestowed
Amongst someone you could never know
In this plight of this dismay
This thickness of your plague
She❝s a realm that❝s lost her way