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levantado dos mortos
do assoalho ao teto
meu sorrow, quando for aqui com mim
os dias endeared a cada MUSE
a lua levantando-se escondeu as estrelas
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
um pensamento doce solemn
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
nós não éramos muitos
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
em seus braços estava o prazer imóvel
tempestade

 



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