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Transportador
Cor de Fundo
Ferramentas
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On the lake, the deep forbidden lake, the old boats go gliding by,
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and the leaves are falling from the trees and landing on the logs and I
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see the turtles heading for the bog and falling off the log.
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They make the water splash, and feeling no backlash,
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they climb the happy banks.
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On the boats, the old and creaky boats, the shoreline goes gliding by.
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And the wind, there was a dying breeze, is making the banners fly.
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See the colors, floating in the sky, the pride of the captain's eye,
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as he glides his slender craft inside and opens up the door.
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On the coast, the long and tempting coast, the cards on the table lie,
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and a speech, so eloquent in reach, was made by a passerby,
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passing by the way between here and left behind.
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And it ripples through the crowds who run and cast their doubts
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in the deep forbidden lake.
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Yes, it echoes through the crowds who run and cast their doubts
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in the deep forbidden lake.
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