Guest
Text: Well, I do not know, in which time, Badger stuck his balls in a vase And in that forest, in a layered ford, The spider danced on a sandwich. oil meal oil meal what a shame... going out In the depths of the owl, In the sweat of glamor chicken whittled the stove or something, And the groan of the floors In the openwork of the stench Over the heads Do you need potatoes? oil meal oil meal what a shame... going out
