xxviii
If one told the little boy,
He would die alone,
He wouldn't weep or cry,
For he knew his fate was agone,
From just a sheet of paper that he would pry
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If one told the little boy,
He would die alone,
He wouldn't weep or cry,
For he knew his fate was agone,
From just a sheet of paper that he would pry
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen247.Pro