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Ouro Preto, Brazil | ||
| Stony streets, so old and steep May so many secrets keep. Generations come and go, Sometimes hasty, sometimes slow, Yet the streets remain the same, Happy with their silent game. Church bells fill the morning air, Loud and clanging 'cause they care. They want people to arise And to praise with ardent cries. O'er the centuries they ring, Trying to some comfort bring. | ||
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