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death poem

una pesca piccola nel frutteto si è sviluppata
sole e vento e battimento del mare
la mia anima va placcata nelle cose gorgeous
siete il mio compagno
ho visto con gli occhi aperti
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
dicami non
le montagne sono gente silenziosa
vi ricordate di

 



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