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narrative poetry

li ha fatti mai sentono parlare
il sole ha fatto un passo giů dal suo throne dorato
ci č una cittŕ, builded da nessuna mano
sono vecchio e cieco
che cosa era esso i motori detti
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
ci era uno strangeness sui vostri labbri

 



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