Every September,
We miss next October,
Every October,
We miss next November,
Every November,
We miss next December,
Every December,
He's failing again and again.
His vain, huge vanilla made up by,
We all remember how he's mistaken.
How sad to say like.
Every single December, he regrets
his November.
Every single November, he regrets
his October,
Every single October, he regrets
his September,
Every single September, he regrets,
his lost of August's fame
Like an insane man.
Who's name is kind of a David.
Who's apprised by our linguists.
Shan't we sing a song like those way?
For the Dear Mr. Bears.
Who's got hours of ours.
Badly to sing I am, am I?
この文章はPipopaによって2020年(令和二年)に書かれた。
This text is written by Pipopa at 2020yy, R2yy.
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