Heretoir - Fatigue - Heretoir | Текст песни

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• Heretoir
• Fatigue - Heretoir

A path in a dim light
that I have to walk myself.

Rain falling from my lips,
the most cleanest of all.

Dissany,
esperance in isolation.
Cold hands clutching at

something that is gone.

Her,
dressed in black.

A warmth
surrounding me
when I saw her eyes
sparkling.

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