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eu não queimo nenhum incense
eu verei uma estrela hoje à noite
eu ganhei a raça
era uma oysterman novo alto
eu sou fevered
através do peito aching da terra larga
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
você ouve a chuva?
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
receoso não mais, eu digo
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
trançado e tecido
quem estará nomeando o vento

 



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