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poem

porque
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous
eu não pray para a paz
fala não bem
eu vou minha maneira complacently
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
eu ofereci-os todo o farewell
do assoalho ao teto
sob a lua da colheita
meu sorrow, quando for aqui com mim

 



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