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meu sorrow, quando for aqui com mim
o doce com fern e levantou-se
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
os poetas dizem
eu vim no deserto porque minha alma Ă© athirst
qual se mantem
o movimento do seu corpo Ă© como a mĂşsica
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas

 



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