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el banquete real fue hecho
en todas las cosas no habladas de
sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
ruédeme abajo por el prado
déjeme moverse lentamente a través de la calle
cómo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
ahora mientras que están viviendo mis labios
el más triste del año
cortocircuito y dulce, y hemos venido al extremo de él

 



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