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religious poem

il pił triste dell'anno
non giri la vostra testa
dal pavimento al soffitto
impaurito nient'altro, dico
ora mentre i miei labbri stanno vivendo
parla non bene
ad alcuno i dii grassi
come candela bianca
nei numeri mournful
ho sentito tutto il giorno il vento
per veritą, per amore
bello
o giusta e stately domestica, di cui occhi
li ho fatti un'offerta tutto l'addio

 



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