My blush!
What kind of fleur
Which mazes thou most?
And if my blush
And if my blush
By any frail'd means of miniature passion
Sow'd feeble distrust,
Confiding subject of the lover
Oh! Let one re-assure with brief question of ripe spring
Oh honourable sire!
How much can thou afford of lushy refreshal
And to purchase my suppler arse?
By point of one bluff?
Too soothing comfort of night-spin?
How blissful thou art!
To come across the dining room
And witness the youthful bloom,
One early blossom of
My blush"
Sire!
............. Sire!
Oh when will thou subside with feeling
That love which thou dreamt of
Doesn't exist in destitute of nature?
Only pure insinuations
Only pure insinuations
Only pure insinuations...
Only - only
Pure insinuations...
Only pure insinuations
Bother my tranquility
As snow does its first touch of fall
On eye-lash of her.
And she wants some memories
Restored while the rest of remaining tolls completely destroyed
For she's still inclined towards one esteem thoughtless in buoyancy
For she's still inclined towards one esteem thoughtless in buoyancy
As if she's better in upkeeping
Sobriety and during the lapse of meeting
Than her competitor.
Ah!
Only pure insinuations bother my tranquility
When the winter folds the city
Where she used to live.
And her competitor
Sweeter in promise
Dares and to whisper
Quite opposite to
Offer voiced before permission of mine.
"Sire!
............. Sire!
What happened to thou?
I'm not her substitution.
I came to receive
Only pure insinuations
Only pure insinuations
Only - only
Pure insinuations
Only pure insinuations
Only pure insinuations"
No matter how I'm turning ultimately serious
Yet every girl around my essence
Finds my sole devotion extremely ridiculous
And maybe even dangerously laughable.
Oh whatta odd destiny of mine!
I can't fake my smile like the first time
She spotted my cold grin.
I can only dream of love
Which doesn't even fucki̇ng exist
In destitute of nature.
Well,
According to her words.
Yet not words of her primary competitor.
Who wanted to repeat
Outstretch of legs in rush
Via effortless push.
Only pure insinuations
Only pure insinuations
Only pure insinuations
Bother my tranquility.
My blush...
What kind of fleur
Which mazes thou most?
And if my blush
And if my blush
By any frail'd means of miniature passion
Sow'd feeble distrust,
Confiding subject of the lover
Oh! Let one re-assure with brief question of ripe spring
Oh honourable sire!
How much can thou afford of lushy refreshal
And to purchase my suppler arse?
By point of one bluff?
Too soothing comfort of night-spin?