A glorious band, the chosen few on whom the Spirit came; twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew, and mocked the cross and flame. They met the tyrant's brandished steel, the lion's gory mane; they bowed their heads the death to feel: who follows in their train?
"your mother was an exotic dancer and your sister works at the quafe factory" innominate nightmare
Мегафон орёт что-то про сдаваться Сдаваться блять, как бы сука не так Сдаваться мы не умеем
If you're fond of sand dunes and salty air Quaint little villages here and there