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dê-me
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
há um país completamente do vinho
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
esse ano
não pendure nenhuma grinalda
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente

 



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