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funeral poem

havia um strangeness em seus bordos
eu sou o vento que wavers
filhas do tempo
eu sou fevered
limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
dentro desta sepultura humilde um conqueror encontra-se
agora quando meus bordos viverem
pĂ´de tĂŞ-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
f4-lo vêem sempre um jacaré
eu v todas as sagacidades humanas

 



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