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o ar é como uma borboleta
sombras voadas que varrem perto
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
mas alas, sonhos justos
com o por do sol
todos quiet ao longo do potomac
pouca porta foi alcançada no último
não do mundo largo do todo

 



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