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memorial poem

eighty anos passaram, e mais
serene da tarde e brilhante verdes
deus
dentro de minha mĂŁo eu prendo
eu nĂŁo queimo nenhum incense
nĂŁo do mundo largo do todo
duas fileiras dos repolhos
sabe uma liberação barata
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
e assim vai
o sol está acima
meu amor verdadeiro de seu descanso levantou-se
eu sou velho e cego

 



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