In the Fourth Level of Hell, you are so divine, so cold, that make me feel like splashing your blood all over this dull room. The way you lead me into your trap is your satisfaction and my pain. You lure me with poisonous words, drowning me in a sea of diabolical hands. They extend/reach out hoping you will leave me/let me go. My dead queen.
Anmerkninger gjeldende oversettelsen
Hm...
Senest vurdert og redigert av dramati - 17 Februar 2008 05:23