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lyric poetry

flores dos bebês
traga-me a canção macia
em setembro
rosas e ouro
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
cidade que não é uma cidade
gaily através dos campos nós dançamos
eu tive um sonho e eu acordei com ele
eu disse, mim fechei meu coração
todo meu amor para meu doce
antes do saint de bronze solemn
que possibilidade spiteful rouba unawares
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu

 



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