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truely
ho visto la prima pera
perchč sono le cose che non hanno morte
ora
gaily attraverso i campi abbiamo ballato
fra le montagne ho vagato
piantiamo
al lover appassionato
agito i miei capelli nel vento della mattina
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred
glooms delle viv-quercie
aumentato dai morti

 



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