Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless. Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless. Little white flowers will never awaken you, Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken me. Angels have no thought of ever returning me. Would they be angry if I thought of joining you? Gloomy Sunday.
Gloomy is Sunday; with shadows I spend it all. http://www.qingxue1038.com/Article/Class1/200409/1659_2.html
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檢舉原因
心情: 
