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The crying begins, from the guitar;
The early morning glasses are broken.
The crying of the guitar begins.
It cries monotonously like water cries;
How the wind cries over the snowfall.
Oh, oh, oh, oh sobre la nevada
Hot southern sand they ask for
white camellias;
Cry arrows without target,
The afternoon without tomorrow;
And the first dead bird on the branch.
On the branch.
The guitar, the guitar, the guitar...
The guitar, the guitar, the guitar...
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