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por las mañanas nube-grises
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte
todo mi amor para mi dulce
vi con los ojos abiertos
el sol caminó abajo de su trono de oro
el más triste del año
había un strangeness en sus labios
está a menudo no tan?
el pasar a través de las paredes amontonadas y feas
viejo vino a beber
no sea falso
soy cansado de ser amargo y cansado de ser sabio

 



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