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math poem

quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
pensamentos através de minha cabeça
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
o ar é como uma borboleta
os dias melancólicos vieram
sad são que sabem não o amor
os arcos da ponte vermelha
ame-me no último, ou se você não
o prado estava rastejando
levantado dos mortos
eu estou cantando-lhe
não se aflija que sobre
o sol está acima

 



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