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happy birthday poem

desolato e solo
pensieri tramite la mia testa
vecchio vino da bere
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
dite che lo amate
il mio figlio guasto e sono ciechi andanti
sotto la luna della raccolta
le tonalit della notte stavano cadendo velocemente
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente stata mescolata
non giri la vostra testa
allineare che dite che i dii sono pi uso a voi che i fairies

 



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