Who sent you those little letters
who reminded you that you were the prettiest
I do not remember those afternoons
both their own, many hours in the park "? ...
I went into your soul and planted flag because it was different from others ...
Is that no longer wait for me?
These eyes of cinnamon ... now always closed ... now there are wet ... are already dry.
Tell me now who I will remember that it was the prettiest?
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