My City
My City
My city know is great deal music
But me to sing is only one.
When i to be is melancolic
And golden parking i'm to go.
And, listening to his beauty ballad,
I forget abaut everything.
I do not need so nathing else
I think to wot i saving it.
Balm well speel onto in my soul
The old of castle silent haith.
At sheep in bay a suim tu him it,
My sadeness his is wistl sails
And Torgils Knutsson proud of posture
In Europe reproof is to look.
So any aprose givs a rebuff
Disedeness send to mute reproath
The holi Olaf cloister house
Disturbing unds of very fresh.
Their stronge to know is everibody
But stranhce has spirit from a Piotr.
He hitself a difaid oblivion
And looks the distance over board.
So brave of self to sacrifaising
Above so rased many face.
Beeside on round tower pavement
Echoes sleeping many times.
Born in the hard and hottest battle
It rashes at the hourses shoose.
To rain of working leisurelly
In back to streets without hidins
And in the parklef fal so feering
In winter flashes hari him.
Well go and i to leasting town -
The noize of bay and sea gall cry.
Is not so very young my Vyborg,
But by no mins an ansient.
My sity brings me luck and ancient,
I praude is ceep for him to care.
I live him wiht and lauf and crying,
Its very very stronge him love…
#39048 в Фэнтези
#5904 в Городское фэнтези
#14783 в Приключенческое фэнтези
Отредактировано: 26.06.2021
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