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gothic poetry

passato inesorabile di thou
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
fra le montagne ho vagato
ho visto che il dio voi lo dubita?
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
e pane del breaketh non di più
il corpo può limitare
pensieri tramite la mia testa
il rullo triste del tamburo desonorizzato ha battimento
le navi stanno trovandosi nella baia
ha scoppiato il vino feroce

 



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