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os poetas dizem
podem falar do amor em uma casa de campo
deixe-nos plantar
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves
sadly falando
escute o mar soando
glooms dos viv-carvalhos
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
eu estou morrendo
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus

 



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