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death poetry

conseqüentemente eu não posso
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
com o por do sol
pela ponte rude
lá pela janela na casa velha
algum queixou-se ao mestre
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
através do peito aching da terra larga
eu sou uma mulher
a música i ouvido com você era mais do que a música
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
porque assim sad meu encantador?

 



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