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■ The oak
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My words vertebras,
The remained wound clips on my heart, The lucid death that leaves its breath, The way in which from the bed you don`t get up anymore To kiss my forehead, my cheek, Everything revenged to me is By the clouds that surround my soul, By the humidity of their rain, By the fear of the longing that awaits me at the corner… I am so terrified that I can`t go by your bed, To lift you up…
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