27 de marzo de 2013

Sweet child o'mine.

She's got eyes of the bluest skies,
as id ther thought of rain.
I hate to look into those eyes,
and see an ounce of pain.

Her hair reminds me,
of a war safe place,
here as a child i'd hide.
And pray for the thunder,
and the rain,
to quietly pass me by. 

Guns n'Roses.

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