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brother poem

a algum os deuses gordos
há qualquer um lá
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
têm você andar visto através da vila
uma milha atrás
quando eu era quebrou em Londres
as montanhas são povos silenciosos
eu fui acima e trago as ruas
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas
eu não pray para a paz
sobre o rio beckon a mim

 



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