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siete chiari
tempesta
risiedo alla montagna della tabella
come livellare cade
dice a di buoni vecchi periodi
cara moglie
quando la notte va alla deriva lungo le vie della città
ho visto con gli occhi aperti
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
nei numeri mournful
non appenda corona
gli archi del ponticello rosso
non dal mondo largo di tutto
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre

 



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