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free love poetry

il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
i loro capelli bei
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
non prego per pace
quelli sul superiore dicono che li conoscono, terra -- sono liars
eliminazione, lottante vainly
amo non troppo bene la mia vita, ma
impaurito nient'altro, dico
sotto la luna della raccolta
nei numeri mournful

 



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