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el misterio más oscuro, más extraño
pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa
la agonía del tener demasiada energía
soplador de vidrio del tiempo
disparando para arriba, cayendo abajo
hasta su ventana del compartimiento
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
el dulce con el fern y se levantó
por las mañanas nube-grises

 



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