three hundred and seventy nine.
On love, on grief, on every human thing, Time sprinkles Lethe’s water with his wing.
That’s what hell will be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead.
On love, on grief, on every human thing, Time sprinkles Lethe’s water with his wing.
That’s what hell will be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead.
