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sad death poem

há três maneiras em que os homens fazem exame
eu despise meus amigos mais do que você
diga-me mais menos ou diga-me mais
há qualquer um lá
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
e pão do breaketh mais
quando uma ação for feita para a liberdade
era uma beleza nos dias
short e doce, e nós viemos à extremidade dela
em números mournful
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim
acima dos prados ricos com milho

 



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