Dulce y tierna nina, ?que puedes hacer por mi? ?Hasta donde llegarias para hacerme feliz ? Me gustaria ver que eres capaz de hacer por verme asi, mi
: Dulce y tierna nina, ?que puedes hacer por mi? ?Hasta donde llegarias para hacerme feliz ? Me gustaria ver que eres capaz de hacer por verme asi,
Typewriter torment, dreadful disease Caught it the first day I touched the keys You wear down your fingers and churn out your pap It eats up your life
A, airplane: Typewriter sees some airplanes flying by and then soars up into the sky like a plane! B, ball: Typewriter runs into a giant ball and gets
dear diary listen to me how can i please without smoke rings and striptease? one makes fun two social for social forum meg: "i'd still like you if
(their polluted cars) The vehicle became a molten colour and of a material yet to be discovered. Mesmerising to the occu-pants with the properties of
Summer unfolded like a tapestry And you were there as you have always been There glowing where the sky meets with the trees Air softly crowing, singing
Farewell, typewriter Now you've gone away Over dramatic and underfed To visions unheard of in any bed I checked my mailbox, but you weren't inside Would
Das ist mein Text Nummer 5 6 4 7 Ich hab unbenutzte Universen von Versen hier auf Papier liegen Ich schreib und schreib, Text um Text und der Stapel wachst
Aboubakr et Medine Table d'ecoute Din Records R.A.P a bout de souffle Texte au gout de souffre Les rappeurs jouent a colamaya au bord du gouffre Chante
Farewell, typewriter Now you've gone away Overdramatic and underfed To visions unheard of in any bed I checked my mailbox, but you weren't inside Would
The roots go deep below ground I like to walk with you in the evening Up the hill and back down I watch the mailboat from the clearing My mind is so
million ribbons and floating stars the night sky fades perception is an ocean your days are like eternity hey, it's been so long i'm out on the lawn
The farmer stands proud of his tornado tentacles and all owls pressed through key holes and children tangled into cob webs My stomach speaks to me in
Translation: The Fall. Typewriter.
