up streets In a fashion magazine Beautiful beautiful times I found it in you Beautiful beautiful nights Spending with you Beautiful beautiful lights Shining through you Beautiful beautiful
Превод: Sense поле. Красива, Красива.
when the world play it (Bringing back sweet memories, sweet memories) (Bringing back sweet memories) (Bringing back) Like black is beautiful, names from the seventies Let me tap into your energy, fields
yells of the crowd make my hype excel My metabolism quickens my body gets sense That's when I metamorphosise into the royal fresh prince And as I display all my lyrical beauty
punks they don't try hard Try hard enough, they don't, so they couldn't No joke to what I do inside this field This field to me is filed, there's no
, I see the beauty of earth reversed therein, black seas of sin, plagued sludge of myriad damnations. The force of the black planet earth, my elysium fields
, newborn world Far-away of dead Somatic sense ...Behold - entranced... Creative tears are shed - Eschatological, remixing colours of dead world Regnal age Of beauty
erases birdlight. And in this stunted eclipse I saw myself, some darkness at last tenously visible, love as the sweetest thing. Al Bowlly, Jack Buchanan, sing on, dreaming of the lamps and the beautiful
people say Tattoos are for scum But why be so affraid? For so much beauty made My skin is my canvas My body, here it is It's an open field for joy See
How astonishing is the chance Of leaving this world impress a sense Of natural beauties on us; hallelujah! I think of green fields; I muse With the greatest
a beautiful chariot, darling we're gonna ride The horse is alive Darling we're gonna ride, home in a beautiful chariot Darling we're gonna ride, home in a beautiful
Sense Field Open Heart Surgery into the eyes of such a beautiful girl A dead boy can't smile at the face of such a beautiful girl A dead man can
G DATS HOW IT BE SHE TELL ME DAT SHE LOVE HER A GANGSTER WHO HANDLE BUSINESS FAREAL IM BOUT MY ?? IN THE FIELD AND NOW SHE SAY SHE LOVE HER A GANGSTER
The moon wanted More of my night I turned off the engine And the headlights The trees appeared As they'd never been gone I promised the fields I'd return
A dismal universal hiss, the sound of public scorn The brush that sweeps across the spectral fields This landscape is not without a sense of epic wonder
Born into a field of flowers, to slowly wilt away Sheltered by wings, delicately smothered by blindness Ridden by the clawed hoofs of tyrants Released