Web for each pattern is born.
Sticky nodes our meters stretch.
We build our way out of the brittle threads,
Draping the picture of a fine brush.
Spiders taraschat telescopes in the wilderness, a whisper
With a sense of smoke enters in Smolny
the scorching heat. Pus evil, хых, goes out,
clutching the fabric of wool... don't need to.
Octagonal network is full of surprises:
The pros, the cons, казусных thumbnails
The highest stages of imagination,
after that you always inspiration.
This web, which we were binding -
detonating cord. I would even say
under the glass edge. Bullet wounds
the blood tag, as print centuries.
The gift wizard dies after the death.
Passes wet rain, fly after the branches.
If the night watchman thread sticky,
it means that he is still in FORCE.
In the cracks of the concrete sockets white
settle, creating a whole with the objectives of
Entangle loops, try detail
of the prisoner generously. Better not cry.
Golden sparks. Gritting his brush,
flew the red spray.
The sting of fitting into the cradle, thrown out in the frost,
blood is under a layer of lime.
No chips, gather the remnants of,
start the engine and take the heel.
Сайк aka Crazy:
The silence up to the slightest moan.
Diaphragm aches background
bare-footed. Whistle draught.
In deep trouble. Rush to поздняках.
Caught. Not realizing resisted.
Against the soft flesh sticky thread,
invade the victim dead
handle it wisely.
Throw cry head from his shoulders
can help only a sword.
God will give enough of a piece of glass.
Stay, don't натвори with fervor.
Fire afraid of spiders. Light a match.
With unaccustomed to the point pupils.
Legs pinned thread sticky web.
In a viscous routine gray paint freeze.
Pierce the chills again. Замызганый hair
hiding age for nasty cavity and the unleavened voice.
His fingers gripped the fiber grid.
The fangs of the nasty on the body of the victim make the tag.
Cold soaked with the wall color granite.
Writhing in spasms, tossing and turning in activities unconnected,
numb from the eyes: the eyes wild,
оледенев in time, not be able to leave the cocoon of a sticky
the hour. Having lost the image, ворочась, knocking compass,
remains spin in the pattern, зрея the abyss.
Who will help to break loops in the mists of copper
the victim, sweaty pale?
Do something trying to, trying to (but what?),
thought frantically merged. In vain...
Исполнитель переведенной песни: Песочные Люди
Название переведенной песни: Паутина
Добавил: Пользователь Песочные Люди