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nel porto di nuovo York
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
la notte è scura ed i venti di inverno
non eravamo molti
sopra il fiume, sulla collina
il singolo pugno serrato alzato e ready
ci sono guadagni per tutte le nostre perdite
qui cade nessuna luce
dite che lo amate
dal puntello, dal mare
indietro, giri indietro

 



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