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gothic poetry

sotto un albero di diffusione della castagna
figlie di tempo
sono andati i tre, quelle sorelle rare
le ombre delle navi
il sole in su
vecchio vino da bere
improvvisamente, dai sensi scuri e frondosi
ci sono guadagni per tutte le nostre perdite
quando il vento funziona contro di noi nell'oscurit
vi ricordate di
sto morendo

 



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