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christmas poem

o oeste velho, o tempo velho
quando eu retornei no por do sol
não há nenhum escape pelo rio
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
como deva mim ajude à direita ao mundo que está indo erradamente
teria mesmo seu gracejo
nós colocamos
eu despise meus amigos mais do que você
porque
quem estará nomeando o vento
fala não bem
quando eu olhei em seus olhos
em sua barraca guardada

 



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