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sad poetry

el pasar a través de las paredes amontonadas y feas
usted está claro
las estrellas cayeron de cielo
sacudaro mi pelo en el viento de la mañana
cómo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
travails de la tierra
hermano, soy fuego
mi dolor, cuando ella está aquí con mí
revuelva
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
caído tan
en septiembre
déjeme ser triste

 



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