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dark poetry

tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
os arcos da ponte vermelha
era muitas e muito um ano há
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
conseqüentemente eu não posso
a escuridão
são você acordado?
nas manhãs nuvem-cinzentas

 



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