quinta-feira, novembro 22, 2007
Snow
Imagine, a few hundred public servants standing up in front of a building, blasting at the top of their lungs:
'Running through the field where all my tracks will be concealed
And there's nowhere to go
I said hey oh yeah... oh yeah,
Tell my love now
Hey oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah, oh yeah'
0 comments
'Running through the field where all my tracks will be concealed
And there's nowhere to go
I said hey oh yeah... oh yeah,
Tell my love now
Hey oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah, oh yeah'