Nudos artes

 -Haci que me vas a servir la misma mierda deux plateu que me servistes antes?  -Olvidalo nena -No te va a funcionar -Te me comportas bien  -O toma tus consequencias ???? -Si....te voy a darte una respuesta....calmate  -Y que significa bien comportamiento? -Significa que tu no vais a follarte  -Follarte....eso es un corazon? -Nou eso significa culearte con outros.... -Oh....Bruno habla super sexy.... -Es su voz.... Sonrisa -Mira nena... - Mhm....si señore? En que le ayudo? - Mira...mhm....en que miro  - Mirate al espejo tonta fea... - Y...dios mio....que insulto.... - realmente? Hahaha - de veras esto es poco impresionante.... - de verdad....porque te insultastes - no....solo estudio sus maneras  - Mira  - miro.... - tonta fea  - ya uso esa palabra señore Y eso no es mi nombre.... - mira preciosa..... - mhm.....mejor - lo que pasa es que tu tienes un problema con promiskuisidad y te lo areglas tu o se te areglara.... - bueno señor....como le ...

 There are riders that ride soo fast They make my matrix blast  There are friends that like friendship soo much they will explode a lake with sweet waters into a salty see with lemon raddles  I know friendship, it can be nice....in comfortable mix with honey milk and drips of ginger ale at making wishes in the night into dreams full of delight. I know friends can be sweet....a keenship of partners in hearts in mind and a soul link to last....thru moonlight in the night and flying feet in the wind at cloud high sky....with pomps of pink in caramel they sink. I love to have friends to. But spilling blood for stealing friendship tods would i never sink me precious pride into such bloody tides.  I think it has to do with misfortune, lack of love and inside torture. Passion for friendship can be sometimes crucially lonesome. Make people kill for caring hands and ears that listen in dwelleres stand.  Friendship is beautyful....in the hands of minds that value that bea...

  Jolly but fearful Deadly in sin Joyous in dvells of misery and hell Only there can it live....a lie of a rebell Nowhere there is belle  She came from the mispell A muse she had to tell....and sunshine rose in the dwell  She used to love to live in hell....but amusement in the park og joy awoke her dark sad rell.  She loved life she understood....even if misery whispered in risperry letters singing purple songs to lords of creative achord......