when death sits on your shoulder
infecting your دل
the beat of the cursed one
feels no empathy
feels all alone
when hope is on holiday
when آپ want your self back
where do آپ go
who do آپ turn to
who will end your suffering
he sits and waits
o death on my shoulder
i know your after my soul
i know آپ just wait
but i'm not sure if آپ are playing tricks on me
can آپ end my sorrow
یا is it آپ who causes my agony
will آپ be there when i die
still squeezing and taking all i have
until i'm dust and wind.
infecting your دل
the beat of the cursed one
feels no empathy
feels all alone
when hope is on holiday
when آپ want your self back
where do آپ go
who do آپ turn to
who will end your suffering
he sits and waits
o death on my shoulder
i know your after my soul
i know آپ just wait
but i'm not sure if آپ are playing tricks on me
can آپ end my sorrow
یا is it آپ who causes my agony
will آپ be there when i die
still squeezing and taking all i have
until i'm dust and wind.
This blonde cop stops a blonde driver and asks for identification.
The blonde driver looks all around in her پرس, تھیلی and can’t find her license. “I must have left it at home, officer.”
“Well, do آپ have any kind of identification on you?” asks the cop.
The blonde takes out a pocket mirror and says, “I do have this picture of me.”
“Let me see it,” says the cop. She holds up the mirror and looks in it. Then she says, “Sorry. If I had known آپ were a police officer, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”
The blonde driver looks all around in her پرس, تھیلی and can’t find her license. “I must have left it at home, officer.”
“Well, do آپ have any kind of identification on you?” asks the cop.
The blonde takes out a pocket mirror and says, “I do have this picture of me.”
“Let me see it,” says the cop. She holds up the mirror and looks in it. Then she says, “Sorry. If I had known آپ were a police officer, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”
