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thanksgiving poetry

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
eu quero saber onde você vive
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
nossos momentos agradáveis voam
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
a terra mantem algum ir da vibração
eu tenho que dizer good-night
talvez
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser

 



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