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death poetry

lucida l'ultima età, il seguente con speranza è visto
morbidamente piangendo
quando ero si è rotto a Londra
chi chiamerà il vento
di ci non era mai un suono al lato il legno ma uno
ma alas, sogni giusti
conosco non dove
molto bene, voi liberali
alla mezzanotte

 



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