:O His father was a drinker And his mother cried in bed Folding John Wayne's T-shirts When the swingset hit his head The neighbors they adored him For his humor and his conversation Look underneath the house there Find the few living things Rotting fast in their sleep of the dead Twenty-seven people, even more They were boys with their cars, summer jobs Oh my God Are you one of them? He dressed up like a clown for them With his face paint white and red And on his best behavior In a dark room...
Hugi notar vefkökur til að bæta notendaupplifun á vefsíðunni og greina umferð um hana.
Einnig hefur Hugi uppfært persónuverndarstefnu sína. Skoðaðu stefnuna hér..
