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encima de los prados ricos con maíz
déjenos compasión los de quienes sea mejor que nosotros son
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
dentro de mi mano sostengo
cuando libertad de su altura de la montaña
usted es mi compañero
en y encendido
amé a mujer
de'bil-se va volando la canción
allí por la ventana en la vieja casa

 



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