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thanksgiving poem

se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
eu soube o silęncio das estrelas e do mar
a festa real foi feita
flores dos bebęs
o mestre de destinies humanos é mim
pensamentos através de minha cabeça
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
năo se aflija que sobre
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
em setembro

 



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