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perguntam-me onde eu estive
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
sob a lua da colheita
receoso não mais, eu digo
como ela
quem estará nomeando o vento
eu vi que o deus você a duvida?
algum queixou-se ao mestre
eu encho este copo
há qualquer um lá
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser
a noite era preta e drear

 



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