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birthday poetry

malinconia, azzurro era
quando la notte va alla deriva lungo le vie della cittĂ 
felicitĂ 
la festività reale è stata fatta
tempesta
il prato stava strisciando
sono andato su e giĂą le vie
la notte è scura ed i venti di inverno
gaily attraverso i campi abbiamo ballato
quelli sul superiore dicono che li conoscono, terra -- sono liars

 



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