Tekster:
Ten Foot Pole Nova Scotia

what i miss her hair, her cheeks, her lips puckered to kis the wind blows drags her nose through her forehead like a horn grows the omen clears but years too late nova scotia

me what i miss her hair, her cheeks, her lips puckered to kis the wind blows drags her nose through her forehead like a horn grows the omen clears but years too late nova scotia