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christmas poetry

il rullo triste del tamburo desonorizzato ha battimento
li ha fatti mai vedono un coccodrillo
fra le montagne ho vagato
alti pareti ed enorme
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
in vostri bracci era il piacere tranquillo
il vecchio ovest, il vecchio tempo
il giorno è fatto
un cielo che non ha conosciuto mai il sole, la luna o le stelle
qui cade nessuna luce
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
e pane del breaketh non di più
moonlight profondo e tenero

 



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