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thank you poem

la nerezza rotola verso l'alto
all'alba, ha detto
all'interno di questa tomba umile un conqueror si trova
sono vecchio e cieco
vecchio vino da bere
cantili ancora alla canzone cantati
corsa alto-sopportata
all'interno della mia mano tengo
le veritĂ  terribili questi sono
l'alba era verde mela
è andato
per allora senza
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?

 



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