WABI RYVOLA - Prokletá vůně hor 

Ticho!!!!!!! Nebo budu brečet.

pořád?

Pořád!!

Zlatá maminka, važte si jí. Je to posel starých trempských časů. Chvála Pána Bohu za to. 🔥🎻🤠🪕✝️🙏

krásné...a co ti brání kamaráde?

STÁŘÍ A NEMOC BOHUŽEL.JSEM RÁD ŽE SE TI VYZNÁNÍ LÍBÍ

Moc krasne..preji hodne zdravi!!

Každým krokem ponesu i tebe kamaráde, pevně tě držím. Neměj strach a sni jak v náruči maminky...............................

A nešlo by to nějak udělat??? Už vůbec nechodíš??? Pokud chodíš aspoň trochu, tak by to šlo, ne? Dejte vědět!!!!

Jezdis? Jestli chces prijed k nam p.b.buchy@centrum.cz

Ahoj! Někdo na čundr? Já, Páter. Odpovídám teď. když si listuji v nabídce písní a pročítám komentáře. Dej vědět od jara 2019. Žiju v Brně, ale jsem náplava ze Zlína. /kopcil.ant@seznam.cz

here's a quick and dirty translation: The cursed scent of the mountains doesn't let me sleep strange winds choir I hear again blowing sopranos attract crazy weather from a distance with an alto woman so why maybe a northerner goes to my windows play your song at night. Colorful flowers couple and distorted tone from the frightening rock joints, thunder roares hollowly I whistle softly at the stormy weather in vain, however, I hope it will work out I scream in my eyes north snow white snow. I forget the camps are gone I forget where I've ever been I have written in the wrinkles on my forehead that I knew them that I lived with them. I know he's still opening his arms valley in the middle of old rocks the road to the mountains continues to remind me faces I knew so well. I forget the faces that have disappeared life goes on and I was there I have written on the scars on my body that I knew them, that I lived with them. Up in the pines, the cold wind blew The pine fire warmed me in the palm of my hand on a pan fall snowflakes summer is over no one will know that he was left alone with me in the mountains friend northern wind. The cursed scent of the mountains doesn't let me sleep it's just a defiance that I have to play again at the guard fires songs wandering keep on winds singing sore songs it will be in my hands forever pine fire to warm. I forget the camps are gone I forget where I've ever been I have written in the wrinkles on my forehead that I knew them that I lived with them. I know he's still opening his arms valley in the middle of old rocks the road to the mountains continues to remind me faces I knew so well I forget the faces that have disappeared life goes on and I was there I have written on the scars on my body that I knew them, that I lived with them.

@@Esoteric_5075ism Đekuji! And best regards from Serbia