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sorry poem

a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
ouviu as crianças jogar no sol
o mais saddest do ano
de encontro ŕ flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
eu arremessei minha alma ao ar como um vôo do falcăo
caras bonitas, tragical
eu sou fevered
há um que esse i amou uma vez assim muito
pouca porta foi alcançada no último
eu prendo seu coraçăo
há qualquer um lá
pela ponte rude

 



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