In our quarrels
you break my spikes,
sometimes by your own hand
caress my soul.
My darling, please,
judge my affair graciously:
to hide to you, if only I could,
I would not be cold.
you break my spikes,
sometimes by your own hand
caress my soul.
My darling, please,
judge my affair graciously:
to hide to you, if only I could,
I would not be cold.
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