Singer: Corina

Album: Corina

1983 alley 65438+ sunny night in February Chapter 7

The typewriter continued to push the next line closer to the truth.

The fog of heather pipe floated to the dead tree and cried to me silently.

On the knight's arm on the round square armor next to Baker Street.

Iris's badge is slightly brighter.

A late-night visit accompanied by the sound of a driverless carriage

The bloody opening of evil in Victoria moonlight

Disappearing pistol, blackened cane, melted wax figure

Who's not there? The illusion of symbols on jewelry boxes

Contradictions led to his dead lane evidence being perfectly buried.

Laughing at Scotland Yard's rising corners of the mouth.

If evil is a magnificent and cruel movement (then justice is a deep and helpless depression)

I will write its ending with my own hands (then I will light the light in the ashes)

The morning light dries the last sadness (then raindrops will clean the dark high walls)

Black ink dyed peacefully (turn off the lights, red curtain lowered)

Facts can only go deep into the soil without footprints.

Sudden faint floral fragrance, deliberately conspicuous clothing

Everyone wears a mask and lies for different reasons.

Motivation has only one name, and that is desire.

Who can really cross the swamp of human nature without being polluted?

We can forget and forgive, but we must know the truth.

The last photo of the moved iron bed was finally put together.

I heard footsteps and looked forward to soft leather heels.

He pushed open the door, and the night wind shook the kerosene lamp for a while.

The typewriter stopped at the killer's name and I turned around.

The night sky at Westminster Abbey began to boil.

Bloom gorgeous chest of death.

I tasted the last sweet truth.

Smile and remember justice, just playing the violin quietly in the times.

If "Evil" is a gorgeous and cruel movement (the soft leather heel of footsteps is expected), he pushed open the door and the night wind shook the kerosene lamp for a while.

I will write the ending myself (the typewriter stops at the murderer's name, I turn around and the night sky at Westminster Abbey begins to boil).

Black ink dyed peacefully.

If evil is a magnificent and cruel sport, I will personally write its ending.

The morning light dries the last line of sadness, and the black ink is peaceful.

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