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tiene usted el caminar visto a través de la aldea
y va tan
rompemos el cristal que vino sagrado
aquí miente una señora más hermosa
el sol está para arriba
pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa
la nieve susurra sobre mí
soy cansado de ser amargo y cansado de ser sabio
ochenta años han pasado, y más
no me quemo ningún incienso

 



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