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funeral poem

quem estará nomeando o vento
para a verdade, para o amor
você diz que você me ama
o que era ele os motores ditos
ao longo dos bancos
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave
acima de e para baixo vai
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
irmão, eu sou fogo
sabe uma liberação barata
material da lua
há uns ganhos para todas nossas perdas

 



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