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epic poetry

a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
f4-lo vęem sempre um jacaré
dentro desta sepultura humilde um conqueror encontra-se
dę-me a fome
de nossos lugares escondidos
minha măe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
poderíamos nós mas para saber
um olhar é mas um raio

 



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