Fleeting feelings, or so thought.
Warm and fuzzy stomped down into a dry wine.
It coats my throat and I suffocate as I swallow.
I look at my reflection and see a horrible face.
Doves are dying.
Part 5.
Fleeting feelings, or so thought.
Warm and fuzzy stomped down into a dry wine.
It coats my throat and I suffocate as I swallow.
I look at my reflection and see a horrible face.
Doves are dying.