Teksty:
Devil Wears Prada The Escape

remorse. Try to contain every ounce of sorrow. Our hearts have no room for this. I am made of anger. There's a proportion to be met between escape and

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of sorrow, our hearts have no room for this. I am made of anger. I am made of anger. There's a proportion to be met between escape and defense.

once of sorrow, our hearts have no room for this. I am made of anger. I am made of anger. There's a proportion to be met between escape and defense