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pumpkin poem

eu estou cantando-lhe
eu năo queimo nenhum incense
os dias hypocritic
a senhora, seu coraçăo girou para a poeira
o relâmpago piscou, e levantou
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
eu nunca soube que a terra teve assim muito ouro
estourou o vinho feroz
há uma hora do descanso calmo

 



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