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erotic poem

mi domando dove vivete
perch sono le cose che non hanno morte
alcuni dei hurts che avete curato
da solo
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
la festivit reale stata fatta
migliori che il granito
del sole n stelle
burly, humble-ape fare un pisolino
tristemente parlando
nei numeri mournful
il pi triste dell'anno
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere

 



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