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death poetry

mil anos silenciosos há
temos nós nenhum shame?
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
na obscuridade e na paz de minha cama final
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
não seja falso
sob a folha dusky do laurel
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
em seus regimentals ásperos
há um país completamente do vinho
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar

 



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