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autumn poem

algum queixou-se ao mestre
uma tempestade está montando na maré
receoso năo mais, eu digo
os prayers brancos pequenos
vocę é meu companheiro
embora repine do amor, e chafe da razăo
quem é o corredor nos céus
escute o mar soando
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays

 



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