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poca puerta fue alcanzada en el último
renueve la visión del placer
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
hay uno que ese i amó una vez tanto
ésos en el superior dicen que le conocen, tierra -- son mentirosos
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
nobleza de la muerte otra vez
las montañas son gente silenciosa
bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
el banquete real fue hecho

 



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