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teen poem

frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
de nossos lugares escondidos
não há nenhum escape pelo rio
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
melancolia, azul era
seja paciente, vida, quando o amor está na porta
conseqüentemente eu não posso
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
os dias hypocritic
eu estou morrendo

 



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