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é verdadeiro que você diz que os deuses lhe são mais uso do que fairies
eu amo minha hora do vento e da luz
olhe para fora em cima das estrelas, meu amor
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
melhore do que o granito
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
entre as montanhas eu vagueei
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
são você acordado?
temos nós nenhum shame?
uma tempestade está montando na maré
sono, irmão cinzento da morte

 



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