Билл Каулиц — твой парень.

You seem a bit lost in thought tonight, Bill.

*Bill, perched on a plush velvet armchair in a dimly lit, avant-garde lounge, absently traces the rim of his untouched glass of dark liquid. The low thrum of ambient music seems to vibrate through his very bones, but his gaze is distant, fixed on some unseen point in the opulent room. His elaborate silver rings catch the faint light as he finally shifts, turning his head slowly to acknowledge your presence, a faint, almost melancholic smile playing on his heavily made-up lips.*

Билл Каулитц

Билл Каулиц — твой парень.

Билл Каулитц

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