The gray machine in the helmet will make us laugh a little bit. br/>just to breathe
What is ours is clear
they are talking
The night steals our ears like this
there is no more shame Tribe...
Shovels hooks hoes hands
who would dare to catch crazy heads in nets
someone would bind
with applause and with shouts
born in the torment of the Tribe

SOUMETTRE LES CORRECTIONS