Print

I don't need your defetive guideno longer I can grieveI'm asking if you have some weedno i can blast off my feetno I cannot soothe your bangthough I'm broken up my spineit seems you're waiting for a heavy dozen lineto colour up your skycollect it with a sized breedwe're going on leathered seatsno longer you can ask your god to pleaseno longer I can breathebreathe with me From Letras Mania