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Description
And the apples, they fall like the shells from the guns
And the shotgun, it misses the hare when he runs
And he moves like the wind with cold air in his lungs
And his little warm heart beats in fear like a drum

village song - paris paloma

Description
And the apples, they fall like the shells from the guns
And the shotgun, it misses the hare when he runs
And he moves like the wind with cold air in his lungs
And his little warm heart beats in fear like a drum

village song - paris paloma