Prague, what a romantic city.... Czech Republic

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With the air of tired players
crying about the defeat
stand your walls blacks

A little matter of the chill wind of the north
of snow storms
of ice hanging
nase from the Gothic towers of your

Acre is the smell of coal
burning in your viscera
acrid smoke that is the capacity to mourn everything
but your strict dress
is adorned by sparkling gold baroque
and
below the black
colors are endless
a reminder of your real size
where the heart throb of Europe