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son poem

completamente dos rasgos
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
eu vi-o uma vez antes
diga-me
quem estará nomeando o vento
o rolo sad do cilindro muffled tem a batida
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
o mestre de destinies humanos é mim
renove a visão do prazer
não esteja irritado com mim

 



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