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life poem

sotto il timone del guerriero
sopra il fiume, sulla collina
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
una foschia stava guidando giů
che cosa era esso i motori detti
se esso
perchč cosě triste mio bello?
metŕ di piaceri e palazzi benchč possiamo vagare
ha detto
ha scoppiato il vino feroce
hanno gettato una pietra, voi hanno gettato una pietra

 



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