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o prado estava rastejando
uma palavra do vôo de aqui e lá
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
fraco-é voada a canção
escute
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
f4-lo vêem sempre um jacaré
os arcos da ponte vermelha
em números mournful
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
eu sei o que você está indo dizer

 



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