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pumpkin poem

fala não bem
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
os dias hypocritic
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
três dias eu ouvi-os afligir-se quando eu coloco absolutamente
quando o vento trabalhar de encontro a nós na obscuridade
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
eu vi que você hunched e tiritando nas pedras

 



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