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quanto selvaggio, come strega-come bizzarro che la vita dovrebbe essere
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
forse č materia che avete morto
perchč allora, il mosto noi vede?
sono fevered
splendido e terribile il vostro amore
non prego per pace
della l'oscuritŕ e pace nel mia base finale
i poets dicono a

 



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