And our problems will crumble apart, the soul / blow through like a wind, and here where we live will all be clean again, with fresh bread on the table. (Pablo Neruda)

And our problems will crumble apart, the soul / blow through like a wind, and here where we live will all be clean again, with fresh bread on the table.

Pablo Neruda

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apart blow bread clean crumble fresh live soul table wind

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