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um gleam do ouro no gloom e no cinza
nós não éramos muitos
as canções velhas
agora que eu lhe esfriei
antes do saint de bronze solemn
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
porque
Ă© ido
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
eighty anos passaram, e mais
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate

 



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