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happy birthday poem

desolado e solitário
pensamentos através de minha cabeça
vinho velho a beber
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia
você diz que você me ama
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
sob a lua da colheita
as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente
e enquanto nós andamos a grama foi agitada fraca
não gire sua cabeça
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies

 



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