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lyric poem

stuff della luna
come le aquile sul high alto
aumentato dai morti
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
circa ha sporto querela al padrone
osservi fuori sulle stelle, il mio amore
dicami piĂą di meno o dicami di piĂą
rumori che si sforzano strapparsi
vecchio vino da bere
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente è stata mescolata

 



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