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escuche
a qué una mujer la comparará querida
el elevar, como el viento sopló
tristes son que saben no amor
una milla detrás
no se aflija que encima
la medianoche pasada
amo mi vida, pero no demasiado bien
con los ojos mansos, marrones
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
hago mi cubierta, pero nadie sabe
poca puerta fue alcanzada en el último

 



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