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My heart speaks in my mind that it is often unclear for the soul
but my head does not hear my heart becomes a bigamist
my heart was torn by my head was still weak
My head told him, and now here you are useless
my heart has lost his mind I think it should be tried
Love Lost my head, closed mouth, says hate
Love never fails to tell him pull its channels
my head is still stuck in the Trojan
Sometimes it would be wise, but I can not do my eyes would get involved either light
then infinitely slowly my heart and my head begins anew
but hate the song demonic croak my heart no longer knows where to go
Love is in my head I'm here no matter how far you will take
and if you hear me reminded of my heart to you, then my hands are on land from too much I do not know who they are, but love orphans
False statements are made all uncertain then comes silence
For some barbarities without adequately violence
and now the head and heart is crying from morning until night there is nothing left
life of deception on the sheets do remain a few good tacticians which for centuries has taken the head and my heart to a doll made of wax
the cross hair as any fruit and I swear my soul crit
Love becomes so low that it does not promise anything, and then my heart and head
suddenly hold hands and do not want to hear that the word love (LOVE) but already knows love is too fragile to have lost the duel, but will never be for sale
It took my eyes that he understood when I said that you hear and understand I remembered them in those dark years
or cockroaches say love is from the future
and still babies are like night book Mein Kampf
and I swear that's true, as the dawn and the day I saw him all the time

rats are not dead yet gloomy croak lullabies certainly in the shadow of steam but still disgusting Yesterday is the past is not true, but the Nazis and always smile without you I say Today's dictators have a form of nonsense in the light of the failure




freedom that carries us all directions without any real issue of not knowing the exact propriety those who are to the point Be good you are, for you I stir and my only mistress I call freedom




name does not limit, which is responsible a world that is dying due to lack of stability of your heart and mind fear of emptiness are complicated ..

Elisabeth Vaury

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