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sad love poem

il cielo
ma alas, sogni giusti
dai nostri posti nascosti
poiché ho ritenuto il senso della morte
non posso ora dirvi
ed il mio nome č sincero
le veritŕ terribili questi sono
non posso ritenere sempre il suo greatness
chi ama la pioggia
e pane del breaketh non di piů
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
con gli occhi meek e marroni
molto bene, voi liberali

 



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