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poem

existir da cisne
estourou o vinho feroz
eu sou o vento que wavers
diga-me nĂŁo
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser
evidenciado no glimmer em seus olhos
sad sĂŁo que sabem nĂŁo o amor

 



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