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family poem

há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas
passado unrelenting do thou
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves
vinho velho a beber
existir da cisne
embora repine do amor, e chafe da razão
os prayers brancos pequenos
babylon -- onde eu vou sonhar
sua cara é justa e lisa e fina
eu sou o vento que wavers
a fragrância veio
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão

 



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