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até sua janela da câmara
eu sou o vento que wavers
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá
o dia é feito
eu tive um sonho e eu acordei com ele
veja, eles retornam
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
uma milha atrás
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
eu não pray para a paz

 



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