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sto cantando voi
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
dai nostri posti nascosti
penso spesso alla citt bella
lasci una conservazione di gioia voi
quindi non posso
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente stata mescolata
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
fate non sentirsi
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere

 



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