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lyric poem

o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
cidade que năo é uma cidade
macia agora a luz do dia
a terra mantem algum ir da vibraçăo
a neve sussurra sobre mim
em todas as coisas năo faladas de
os dias melancólicos vieram
bonito

 



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