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Here comes the executioner...
1 min lectură·
Mediu
Here comes the executioner, his clothes are made of wind
He cuts his heads with love, he\' s one of his kind
He sharpens his blade humming a song in his mind
Here comes the executioner, he\'s the best of his kind
Too many songs, too many poems I\'ve cut
The life is too short for flowers to bloom
The life is too ugly to trust a man whom
Is the last image when the window is shut
I\'m the executioner, I\'m your last dream
Give me forgivness, your head and some steam
Here comes the executioner, his clothes are made of blue
Blue is the sky, blue the heaven and the axe steel too
His cuts are so narrow, so nice is the cut
Here comes the executioner, head falls, that is that
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