Last night, my dream was cold,
Touching him felt real and cold,
His hands were cold and his eyes
-white as snow-
Not to be looked into.
Where words are sacrificed at the Altar of Creativity
Where words are sacrificed at the Altar of Creativity
Last night, my dream was cold,
Touching him felt real and cold,
His hands were cold and his eyes
-white as snow-
Not to be looked into.
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