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e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente č stata mescolata
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
la notte era nera e drear
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
all'interno della mia mano tengo
tempesta
cosě perso
ha scoppiato il vino feroce
riassunto su una notte di volo
forse č materia che avete morto
era un oysterman giovane alto
per guardare tutto il giorno l'onda blu arricciarsi e rompersi

 



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