We are not just art for Michaelangelo
To carve.
He can’t rewrite the agro of my furied,
Heart.
I’ll wait On mountain tops in Paris cold
Je ne veux pas mourir toute seule
I’ll dance, dance, dance
With my hands, hands, hands,
Above my head, head, head
To carve.
He can’t rewrite the agro of my furied,
Heart.
I’ll wait On mountain tops in Paris cold
Je ne veux pas mourir toute seule
I’ll dance, dance, dance
With my hands, hands, hands,
Above my head, head, head
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