Tired and tired in my sad city Night of all the pseudo -blacks The life of the cold grudges I was wounded in the wounds of the tangle What a warm and warm hands caress my head The lonely and cold bed of the kiss No one was alone. No one except God, no one was alone I am still in my sad city My night is more black The life of the cold is a cold grudge
-dariush-74439.htm&media=https://iranlyric.com/store/photo/85.jpg&description=Shahre Gham (1351) Dariush){kind=small}
