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sad poem

é frequentemente não assim?
a neve sussurra sobre mim
eu disse
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
no porto de york novo
porque o faça sempre carrinho que tirita lá
poderíamos nós mas para saber
eu sou o vento que wavers
a escuridão rouba os formulários de todas as rainhas
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
quem é o corredor nos céus
macia weeping

 



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