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sad poem

a o que uma mulher a comparará beloved
conseqüentemente eu não posso
alguns dos hurts que você se curou
paredes e enorme elevados
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
sono, irmão cinzento da morte
encontra-se aqui uma senhora a mais bonita
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves

 



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