Mercedes Cristina
Dor, existe dor, e o nome é o seu
Estalos ao redor
De uma dança rudimentar
Algozes rumo ao quebra mar
Tudo cai, tudo, e sobram mais
Agora e no fim
Com sorte, veremos
Não me encontre assim
De TV ligada e os poros abertos aos fungos
Tão complexo, ingênuo
Eu sou deus quando eles fecham os olhos
Flores de papel machê não podem morrer
Estalos ao redor
De uma dança rudimentar
Algozes rumo ao quebra mar
Tudo cai, tudo, e sobram mais
Agora e no fim
Com sorte, veremos
Não me encontre assim
De TV ligada e os poros abertos aos fungos
Tão complexo, ingênuo
Eu sou deus quando eles fecham os olhos
Flores de papel machê não podem morrer
Credits
Writer(s): Vini Andrade
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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