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caras bonitas, tragical
as montanhas são povos silenciosos
truely
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
o prado estava rastejando
e como poderia você sonho da reunião
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
se ele
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
eu gosto d
nós colocamos
eu sou velho e cego
tempestade
eu quero saber às vezes se for realmente verdadeiro

 



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