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meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
sob uma árvore espalhando da castanha
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
ainda treze anos
é ido
um olhar é mas um raio
ao amante passionate
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
pouca porta foi alcançada no último

 



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