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nature poem

as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente
quando eu retornei no por do sol
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
os prayers brancos pequenos
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
mas eu nĂŁo posso lĂŞ-lo agora
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
o que era ele os motores ditos
algum queixou-se ao mestre
deve ir para trás, disse

 



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