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memorial poem

o dia é feito
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
do assoalho ao teto
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola

 



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