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I heard the prayer of your lips,
on the cold canvas of the night.
And the soft swaying of your hair
in the rush of the wind
It turns out that boiled your black dress,
as your voracious eagle's legs stopped.
I heard now hiding triumphant,
the night among seaweed of festive laughter.
And your life in mine bathes my eyes,
as you premiere your drop of mist.