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love poetry

frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
a festa real foi feita
doubtless eu recordo ainda
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
algum queixou-se ao mestre
nunca em toda minha vida
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
deixe-nos expressar nossas paixões mais baixas
no porto de york novo
escute
dê-me a fome

 



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