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death poetry

bonito
teria mesmo seu gracejo
eu ouvi o vento o dia inteiro
deus
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
você diz que você me ama
o corpo pode confinar
quando eu era quebrou em Londres
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
onde deva mim encontre-o
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
o dia é feito

 



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