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narrative poetry

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
o prado estava rastejando
trançado e tecido
quando eu era quebrou em Londres
irmão, eu sou fogo
melancolia, azul era
sobre o rio beckon a mim
eu vi que o deus você a duvida?
quem é o corredor nos céus
eu não pray para a paz
conseqüentemente eu não posso
pouco parque que eu passo completamente

 



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