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kid poem

viejo vino a beber
déjeme ser triste
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
tome mis pulseras
todavía recuerdo sin duda alguna
por completo de rasgones
soy fevered
mi alma es un campo arado oscuro
la noche era negra y drear

 



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