Como si estuviera cautivado por el silencio.
Y solo alto, en las Puertas Reales,
En los brazos de los años más difíciles.
¿Dónde hornean el pastel con arena dorada?
Metáfora anónima de la pérdida olvidada.
Suena como un contrabajo.
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Entonces los unicornios son reales, soy un dragon.
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I don't know Spanish and it's also almost time for me to go to sleep.
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