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type of poetry

l'alba era verde mela
quando ero si č rotto a Londra
ci č un paese in pieno di vino
i poets dicono a
non ho saputo mai che la terra ha avuta cosě tanto oro
sia in me come gli atteggiamenti eternal
il vecchio ovest, il vecchio tempo
penso spesso alla cittŕ bella
veda, da questa falsificazione di lui
siete vivi?
osservi fuori sulle stelle, il mio amore

 



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