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sad death poem

para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
era o outono do ano
qual se mantem
há um país completamente do vinho
a festa real foi feita
na obscuridade e na paz de minha cama final
se eu souber o narrow uma prisão é amor
do assoalho ao teto
os dias hypocritic
para poder ver cada lado de cada pergunta
jogaram uma pedra, você jogaram uma pedra
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro

 



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