The cold gust breezes in our faces
i hear gun shots to star races
i can feel the power inbraces
i love the old times
how the rude rymes
made my day like the wind chimes
so here i stand
with my mum in command
but i have my choises
i dont here her choises
so the winter breeze is cold on my knee's
GIVE ME A COMMENT PLEASE!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem