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math poem

em setembro
glass-blower do tempo
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
sad são que sabem não o amor
eu espero-o
têm você andar visto através da vila
eu fiz um voto uma vez, um somente
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
a luz retirada
no porto de york novo
escuro-eyed

 



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