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sonno, fratello grigio della morte
tengo il vostro cuore
č andato
ci erano tre nel prato dal ruscello
faccia i ragazzi e le ragazze ancora vanno
in settembre
passato inesorabile di thou
lascilo essere triste
il giorno č fatto
forse
e pane del breaketh non di piů
come mi trovo coperto dentro, selezionato dentro
candele che si rovesciano obliquamente in latte del pomodoro
dal ponticello rude

 



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