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caras bonitas, tragical
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
eu estou cantando-lhe
do sol nem das estrelas
a senhora, seu coração girou para a poeira
splendor doce
eu sou uma mulher
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
arched a inundação

 



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