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death poetry

come le aquile sul high alto
la mia anima va placcata nelle cose gorgeous
la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada
per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo
riempio questa tazza
gloom
per venire cosě presto a questo ha immaginato l'oscuritŕ
diami la fame
dice a di buoni vecchi periodi
sotto il timone del guerriero
era una bellezza nei giorni
chi č il corridore nei cieli
come come le stelle č questo il bianco, facce nameless
l'alba era verde mela

 



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