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mother poem

sad são que sabem não o amor
quando eu era quebrou em Londres
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
não há nenhum rebanho, porém prestado atenção e tendido
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
deixe o unsaid encantador das palavras
nos salões do sono você vagueou perto
e pão do breaketh mais
eighty anos passaram, e mais

 



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