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The black sheep became wax
And a sentence hangs on its temple
That if it doesn't hit a moonbath soon
With so much fruit, it will stick to its feet
br/>In the memory of a teenage dream
There remains the memory of a winner
And when he flirted with so many stars
The most screwed one took it
/>He went to ask him, barefoot
Some shoes
I underestimate the power that exists
After comfort
He was a trapeze artist who walked in a hurry
And he didn't want stick to step on
But, at night, he came to play
And, in the morning, to confess
He lost his hair, and also the mornings
Even the consolation of a little alcohol
There are no more adventures, he spends his time typing
Let's see if the monitor cracks
Nothing happened, the dreams are corrected
br/>And today he travels through the PC, behind freedom
And a bad will chained him
Prisoner of love, he serves a sentence
And a bad will was chaining
Prisoner of love, he serves a sentence