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death poetry

il cielo
disprezzo i miei amici più di voi
andato prima di noi
che cosa noi ora farà
ci è un paese in pieno di vino
l'alba era verde mela
sto morendo
lascilo essere triste
per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo
qui cade nessuna luce
dove io trovili
dialo
da solo

 



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