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chi č il corridore nei cieli
veda, da questa falsificazione di lui
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred
la mia anima č un campo arato scuro
i drowses pallidi di giorno sull'occidentale bagnano
con gioia e wonder
siete bei e sbiaditi
che probabilitŕ spiteful ruba i unawares
ultima mezzanotte
ma non posso ora leggerlo
il piů triste dell'anno
riempio questa tazza

 



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