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Not more than two words and every language runs out of it's logic, runs away...
Not more than two eyes and I am following..I run out of my logic, I run away...
So come with me into my arms...
Let's return back at your home...
Your hands in my eyes, honey upon my tongue...
I have never died this way before...
If I only could be imune from this kind of gladness, but I love this pain, I love you my disease...
Travelling in my veins...
We are travelling strangers, we're strangers in ourselves...
We are travelling strangers, we're strangers on the run...

Text přidal Scoth

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