.Os ventos do pasado
Meu dedo `a guitarra
Criam estranho amalgma
O fado de minh'alma
Sou um soldado
No calor da batalha
E a lembrança de seus lábios
à o varrer da metralha
E a lembrança de seus lábios
E o varrer da metralha
Os ventos do passado
Meu dedo `.
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