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lyric poetry

doce e forte
sono, irmão cinzento da morte
três anos há hoje
porque o faça sempre carrinho que tirita lá
mas alas, sonhos justos
se ele
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
eu gosto d
não se aflija que sobre
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
e meu nome é truthful
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã

 



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