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death poem

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
os dias hypocritic
veja, eles retornam
quando eu estive escutar, discreetly dumb
na esfera
estes sejam
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
escute o mar soando
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
melancolia, azul era
em números mournful
e como poderia você sonho da reunião
aflija-se não para o invisível
há um país completamente do vinho

 



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