.[Letra de âEl Ãltimo Pasilloâ]
A nadie le sienta bien el cementerio
Ni al ministro ni al peón
Son todos carne delâ
rumor>
Comparteâ
el cura unâ
callejón con quien no tuvo panâ
ni peces
Y ahora son, entre lombrices, huesos de desolación
Dicen que en la n.
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