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gothic poetry

cidade que năo é uma cidade
há um que esse i amou uma vez assim muito
fora do profundo e da obscuridade
um por um, como sae de uma árvore
sono, irmăo cinzento da morte
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
um pęssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
sobre o rio beckon a mim
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim
e meu nome é truthful
como eu me encontro telhado dentro, selecionado dentro

 



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