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romantic poem

rode-me para baixo pelo prado
e meu nome é truthful
em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
a algum os deuses gordos
o ar é como uma borboleta
f4-lo ouvem-se sempre de
deve ir para trás, disse
última noite a lua cheia colocou um pano do branco
como ela
conseqüentemente eu não posso
a música i ouvido com você era mais do que a música

 



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