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brother poem

eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
vivido pelo river-side
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
lá pela janela na casa velha
renove a visão do prazer
os prayers brancos pequenos
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
nós que estiveram
minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
entre as montanhas eu vagueei
travails da terra

 



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