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mom poem

minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous
quem estará nomeando o vento
eu fui acima e trago as ruas
lá pela janela na casa velha
quando eu olhei em seus olhos
este Ă© o arsenal
nĂŁo seja falso
havia um momento em anos anteriores
há qualquer um lá
e nse
nĂłs que estiveram
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir

 



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