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death poem

o prado estava rastejando
cidade que năo é uma cidade
talvez
quando eu retornei no por do sol
agite
renove a visăo do prazer
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
eu vi as estrelas as mais orgulhosas
sono, irmăo cinzento da morte
e com o pássaro humming
seu cabelo bonito

 



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