Dear, Hands Testo

fired, right from you public another dotted i just leave crumbs for me then pull back, riptide liar aspire hanging high inside your sty you'll find me swinging noose peruse my blues and start your bingeing it's in my bytes it's in my words it gel's my hands you bots on... from your sand box soap box climb find your larynx and make it dry get this down right satiating hollow it feels like i don't own you this set of fits feels like a part to miss an overwhelming thing to do it takes too much time avoiding to try keep just a front of your own paradigm