[center][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/896506343266086982/1168387661996769310/image.png?ex=655194ce&is=653f1fce&hm=d2360033de84167714206d0728f28f19dd353400c524e12a1c2ac7aa17589827&=[/img]
[code]Gazzaro-I, some time ago.[/code]
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQsF3pzOc54]♫[/url]
[img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c8/fe/c7/c8fec7ebbd0aee8df5704921ffa1ab77.jpg[/img]
[h3]"𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎."[/h3][/center]

𝙶𝚕𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚡𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚞 𝚠𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕-𝚢𝚘𝚞-𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍-𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚞𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝙺𝚕𝚎𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚄𝙲𝙻 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚐. 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚍-𝚖𝚊𝚡 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚍𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘. 𝙸𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍, 𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚞𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚢-𝚖𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚄𝙲𝙻. 𝙴𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝟶𝟷𝟶𝟶 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚙 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑.

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚝.

𝙺𝚕𝚎𝚘 𝚛𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎, 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚄𝙲𝙻 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚘. 𝙼𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝚃𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝙸𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚠 𝚊 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚙𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝙰 𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚔𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙸𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚞𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜—𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝙺𝚕𝚎𝚘'𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝚊 𝚄𝙲𝙻 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑. 𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚠𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 '𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎,' 𝙺𝚕𝚎𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍, 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖. 𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝙸𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚢𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚗𝚞𝚐 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝. 𝙸𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎! 𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗, 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚝, 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚞𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗.

[color=ed1c24]"𝙵𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚛..."[/color] 𝙺𝚕𝚎𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚛.
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/5est1Jn.png[/img]
[code] Present day[/code][/center]


[color=ed1c24]"...𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗."[/color] 𝙺𝚕𝚎𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, '𝙴𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚍,' 𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚞𝚙 𝚋𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚌. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙. 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝙺𝚕𝚎𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚝.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚢. 𝙳𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎. 𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝; 𝚄𝙲𝙻 𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍-𝚝𝚘-𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙻𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚞𝚟𝚎𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚞 𝙶𝚊𝚣𝚣𝚊𝚛𝚘? 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚃𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝙲𝙸𝚅𝚂𝙴𝙲 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜.

𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚍. 𝙰 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GGg0nejCmQ]𝚋𝚞𝚣𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐[/url] 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍.

𝙾𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛.

𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜.

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝.