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gothic poetry

come le aquile sul high alto
le preghiere bianche piccole
era molte e molto un anno fa
era l'autunno dell'anno
per guardare tutto il giorno l'onda blu arricciarsi e rompersi
nei numeri mournful
ho vinto la corsa
un cielo che non ha conosciuto mai il sole, la luna o le stelle
ero un goddess ere il marmo lo ha trovato
quando la notte va alla deriva lungo le vie della cittĂ 

 



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