February
Tuesday 30 June 2009 photo 2/3
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Through a dark and desolate valley he walks
Pale, flickering fires light the way
Along an ice cold river lies his path
The sky is of darkest grey
A cold wind pierce through his bones
And the sharp rocks cut his feet
His clothes and skin are ripped by thorns
His eyes appear to bleed
Pale, flickering fires light the way
Along an ice cold river lies his path
The sky is of darkest grey
A cold wind pierce through his bones
And the sharp rocks cut his feet
His clothes and skin are ripped by thorns
His eyes appear to bleed
Annons
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