Sorry. I can not help. In January, I kills me ... but I finished off in February and revive me again. And you have not I can remedy ... I'm already crazy to see you. Crazy, but the auction. Crazy, so much that I can not find another way to February, passing the other eleven. Crazy for feeling, to hold you, for fuck you, and dream of you, and sleep with you, leave me in my dreams with the beat of your music. Crazy about getting wet in your waters, to stain the skin of salt, take your sand in my pockets and your chorus in the drawer of the eternal bars ... do you ??... if I'm crazy to see you another year ??...
If there is no dream of you night or tomorrow dawns not humming or whistling. Downstairs way home from work, remembering letrilla of that, of that knuckle-bar, or this or that guy ... madness of my memory. And yet, no matter the month in which you are, I'm crazy to see you at my side, my darling. Looking for heaven sigh ... ainsss ... your mother, Rosarillo, and your Father the Nazarene ... I have jealousy ... because I have a girlfriend, gentlemen, that is just by looking at stealing hearts ... and I, while ... continue forever, crazy to see you ... and undressed with his eyes and love with the soul, and no other month to love that which comes after this you just start ... January, which pretty you are, with to your caste ...
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