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come le aquile sul high alto
sole e vento e battimento del mare
amo rubare per un po'via
diami la fame
un cielo che non ha conosciuto mai il sole, la luna o le stelle
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
l'agonia di avere troppa alimentazione
qui cade nessuna luce
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred

 



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