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religious poem

a agonia de ter demasiado poder
vinho velho a beber
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
trançado e tecido
meu amor verdadeiro de seu descanso levantou-se
ao lado de um campo stricken
eu nĂŁo pray para a paz
a festa real foi feita
em sua barraca guardada
na meia-noite
os céus que eram ashen e sober
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas

 



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