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sorry poem

com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
as canções antigas
nós não éramos muitos
eu estou morrendo
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
eu verei uma estrela hoje à noite
sadly falando
passagem através das paredes huddled e feias
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
o dia é feito
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
esta é a canção da juventude
as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente
há uma hora do descanso calmo

 



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