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Published: 2013-01-13 13:06:16 +0000 UTC; Views: 95; Favourites: 3; Downloads: 0
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Description
Come to me, my Gothic brideLet our tongues sew up tonight,
Flamely stares heat up the fright
As for the bites we gently fight.
All the weapons you need are your hands,
Rip my skirt off and take a sinful glance,
Pull my sheer thongs down with your teeth
I know that I'll soon forget how to breathe.