Where people go when they die? I ask myself.
Perhaps it's a sky,
perhaps a hell.
But that what you pull me of gone it is worth it inexorably.
Worthy the faces surprise when exposure of the don't until all burn the flange.
I know that the continuous life always, but without of he the mine has not meant. Why my beautiful Harold Potter desert the man he has always loved?
But I'll sees that he cannot help it but follow still this time.
Good bye, world.