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déjeme moverse lentamente a través de la calle
a través del pecho de dolor de la amplia tierra
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
si él
cuál deseo comentar
a lo largo de los bancos
todos tragan los años
por las mañanas nube-grises
hay una ciudad, builded por ninguna mano
las viejas canciones

 



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