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sympathy poem

se ele
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
tudo dentro e tudo sem mim
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
em seus braços estava o prazer imóvel
mas alas, sonhos justos
a escuridão rouba os formulários de todas as rainhas
há uma hora do descanso calmo
em números mournful
é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies

 



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