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sorry poem

caras bonitas, tragical
f4-lo ouvem-se sempre de
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- sĂŁo liars
têm você andar visto através da vila
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
se eu for muito certo
sadly falando
perguntam-me onde eu estive
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
sabe uma liberação barata

 



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