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cidade que não é uma cidade
sol e vento e batida do mar
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
macia agora a luz do dia
as canções antigas
sobre o rio beckon a mim
eu quero saber às vezes se for realmente verdadeiro
na meia-noite
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta

 



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