There's a question of gypsies
between you and me:
We spent a year pursuing
the ever blowing breeze;
Your zephyrs still shift,
but my compass fixed on you.
Still, the winds smell so sweet,
blood makes a bitter cage,
And I just want to
breathe.
between you and me:
We spent a year pursuing
the ever blowing breeze;
Your zephyrs still shift,
but my compass fixed on you.
Still, the winds smell so sweet,
blood makes a bitter cage,
And I just want to
breathe.
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