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suicide poem

com os olhos meek, marrons
gaily através dos campos nós dançamos
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
perguntam-me onde eu estive
o que nós fará agora
por muito tempo há, no moonlight novo
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
é frequentemente não assim?
dentro desta sepultura humilde um conqueror encontra-se
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
do assoalho ao teto

 



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