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son poem

el sol está para arriba
en el frunce de la oscuridad y piden
cuando la noche mandila a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad
tengo que decir buonas noches
no permanezca no más
melancolĂ­a, azul era
tristemente hablando
paredes y enorme altos
las sombras ponen a lo largo de broadway
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte
y con el pájaro del tarareo

 



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