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christmas poetry

sonno, fratello grigio della morte
non giri la vostra testa
ora che mi sono raffreddato a voi
pensieri tramite la mia testa
cosě caduto
perchč cosě triste mio bello?
scuro-eyed
glass-blower di tempo
ha scoppiato il vino feroce
li ho detestati
per coprire il pensiero ardente
il vecchio ovest, il vecchio tempo
ma alas, sogni giusti
i giorni endeared ad ogni MUSE

 



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