The sun goes out first,
heard my rhyme, you
accelerates the wind, feel the cold
under the chin, get rid
colors, if the escape
flowers,
scarves and hats,
pass through his hair,
silence spreads,
wool pants,
snow there already,
descend from the mountains, runs through the trees
thought,
certain things I'm proud ,
fall leaves,
the road if the captures, we expect a
invernone, however I
asshole.
Topax
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