February
25 March 2009
I am not a saint You can't tell if the wood is good By looking at the paint It's not that I don't love you Some words are just hard for me to say I wish I was a poet But honey I'm not built that way
Hits It's a heartache Hits you when it's too late you when you're down It's a fool's game Nothing but a fool's game Standing in the cold rain Feeling like a clown. Ps. minns hur vi inte kunde
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