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grandma poem

o oeste velho, o tempo velho
poderíamos nós mas para saber
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
eu vim no deserto porque minha alma é athirst
quando eu era um menino na faculdade
fora do profundo e da obscuridade
quando eu for para trás ligar à terra
uma vez este turf macio
dê-me

 



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