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nunca había un sonido al lado de la madera pero de una
me pregunto a veces si es realmente verdad
para mí era concejal gaunt, grave
ésta es la canción de la juventud
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
cuando, lleno de amor caliente e impaciente
veo todos los ingenios humanos
aquí cae ninguna luz
cuando la noche mandila a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad
en su tienda guardada
tan perdido

 



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