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death poem

a algum os deuses gordos
o prado estava rastejando
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
eu ganhei a raça
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
nossos momentos agradáveis voam
em números mournful
brilha a última idade, o seguinte com esperança é visto
no recolhimento da escuridão e pedem
o movimento do seu corpo é como a música
com o por do sol

 



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