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la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
ancora tredici anni
andato prima di noi
dal ponticello rude
una penna di acciaio
due file dei cavoli
ho vinto la corsa
ho lanciato il mondo
al lover appassionato
pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
non sia arrabbiato con me
braided e tessuto
lungo una riva del fiume

 



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