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porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
como nivelar cai
em seus regimentals ásperos
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
dentro de minha mão eu prendo
fraco-é voada a canção
faça os meninos e as meninas vão ainda
uma milha atrás
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer

 



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