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child poem

caras bonitas, tragical
lá pela janela na casa velha
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nĂłs na obscuridade
para a verdade, para o amor
eu sei o que você está indo dizer
têm você andar visto através da vila
tudo dentro e tudo sem mim
nenhuma rapina Ă© mim de pensamentos pobres
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
alguns dias mais ventosos
quando eu era quebrou em Londres

 



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