Every Louvre opens with the blame on me .
What does it pay to say sorry.
Those priceless guilt.
Remorse hoover over me ,buh
My knees can't make the service,
Heavy to kneel,
Heads tough to bow.
Mouth mute to confessions.

Every single space was enough.
Multiple pace like those in the north.
"I am sorry" those three words.
Couldn't beat the occasions of...