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spanish poem

a algum os deuses gordos
agite
têm você andar visto através da vila
eu tive um medo em minha vida
o prado estava rastejando
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
embora repine do amor, e chafe da razão
eu estou morrendo
teria mesmo seu gracejo

 



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