j'ai rien a te dire
mon
coeur,
sauf des mots d'amour
de mon coeur
ou les roses,
les fleurs
grow ow ow oH Ho haut o o h haut....
i can not to be
more gentle
than this
fact and you
i hate
the way you presented me
and you are presenting me
your love....
i am
not
a bee
itching
hate full
trastful
bee
fact you man,
i hate waht you do
fact and you
man
are the same....
you only are
franke son of the the bee that itch beautiful merry chrismas
i hate your chrismas
fact
you
man!
i am confused
not the same...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem