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funeral poem

nós não éramos muitos
acima dos prados ricos com milho
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
eu penso d esplêndido justo
f4-lo vêem sempre um jacaré
diga-me
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
eu espero-o
com alegria e maravilha

 



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