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family poem

glooms delle viv-quercie
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred
ci è un'ora di riposo pacifico
e così va
che cosa era esso i motori detti
una foschia stava guidando giù
il cielo
all'interno della mia mano tengo
portimi la canzone morbida
i loro capelli bei
rinnovi la visione di piacere
semplicità

 



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