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vinho velho a beber
não pendure nenhuma grinalda
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
sombras voadas que varrem perto
conseqüentemente eu não posso
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
eu sou uma mulher
deixe-me ser sad
agora para uma luta viva e cheerful
pensamentos através de minha cabeça
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
esse ano

 



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