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porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
os poetas dizem
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
gloom
se eu for muito certo
a senhora, seu coração girou para a poeira
acima de e para baixo vai
e como poderia você sonho da reunião
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas
era uma beleza nos dias
você ouve a chuva?

 



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