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sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
cidade que não é uma cidade
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
fora da janela um mar de árvores verdes
há qualquer um lá
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
embora repine do amor, e chafe da razão
os dias hypocritic
sabe uma liberação barata

 



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