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lost love poem

travails della terra
rumori che si sforzano strapparsi
ho vinto la corsa
calma come che seconda estate
semplicemente parlando
molto bene, voi liberali
in settembre
ombre alate che scopano vicino
mondo che cambia sotto la mia mano
gloom
poco cancello č stato raggiunto in fine
vi ricordate di
non posso ritenere sempre il suo greatness
il prato stava strisciando

 



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