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fall poetry

dai prati ricchi con cereale
il padrone dei destini umani sono io
scattando in su, cadendo
del sole né stelle
ciň č l'arsenale
agito i miei capelli nel vento della mattina
la notte era nera e drear
la mia anima č un campo arato scuro
nel gather di nerezza e chiedono
parla non bene
vedrň stasera una stella
se lo slayer rosso pensa slays
una tempesta sta guidando sulla marea

 



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