All Flesh is Grass
Dressed in white
Stained with blood
On her naked feet
A silent dance she dances
In the forest where the trees
Scream out in agony
As they reach for
A faded and dying sky
Stung by the poisoned thorn
She walks the world
Stung by the poisoned thorn
She walks the world
By the poisoned thorn
She kisses the ground
Where the flowers turned all grey
And their scents were forever forgotten
Together with her name
Stung by the poisoned thorn
She walks the world
By the poisoned thorn
Przychodzi Mietek do lekarza, rozpina rozporek, wyjmuje fiuta i kladzie go na biurku. Zdziwiony lekarz pyta:
- I co z nim nie tak? Czy jest za maly?
- Nie, nie jest za maly.
- Czy jest za duzy?
- Nie, nie jest za duzy.
- A moz pana boli?
- Nie, nie boli mnie.
- To co z nim jest?
- Fajny co???
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