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Mr. Pine
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An icicle feast for my watery eyes; lacing, swirling and floating. An ice castle for us to live in, come on, we're holding hands under our palace of snow. Soft hushed breath it goes in and out, in and out Frost tracing the window pane up and down, up and down. Pale blue frosted cakes for us to feed on, bright eyes always shining always glowing. Icicles hanging from our fingertips. Soft hushed breath it goes in and out, in and out Frost tracing the window pane up and down, up and down Follow the crystal air to the snowflake village where people made of gumdrops greet you; Merry mornings Mr. Pine.
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Ton pseudo sera publié. Laisses les champs vide pour rester anonyme.
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