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uma tempestade está montando na maré
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
ame-me no último, ou se você não
melancolia, azul era
os dias melancólicos vieram
um com você
perguntam-me onde eu estive
nobility da morte outra vez
sob a lua da colheita
em seu vôo
no recolhimento da escuridão e pedem

 



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