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i miss you poem

in tutte le cose non parlate di
come le aquile sul high alto
babylon -- dove vado sognare
morbidamente piangendo
dal ponticello rude
se avessi saputo lo stretto una prigione è amore
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente è stata mescolata
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
provato nel glimmer nei vostri occhi
amavo una donna

 



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