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black poetry

che cosa io devono voi
non eravamo molti
veda che mi dò voi
la gradisco
faccialo rotare giù dal prato
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
i giorni endeared ad ogni MUSE
conosco non dove
aumentato dai morti
non posso ritenere sempre il suo greatness
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
dicami più di meno o dicami di più

 



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