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funeral poem

a senhora, seu coração girou para a poeira
eu soube o silêncio das estrelas e do mar
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
cidade que não é uma cidade
no alvorecer, disse
sob a lua da colheita
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
escuro-eyed
acima dos prados ricos com milho
o movimento do seu corpo é como a música
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars

 



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