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la signora, il vostro cuore si girata verso polvere
una pesca piccola nel frutteto si sviluppata
avete camminare visto attraverso il villaggio
il mio figlio guasto e sono ciechi andanti
lungo una riva del fiume
nel porto di nuovo York
le tonalit della notte stavano cadendo velocemente
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
non prego per pace
amo non troppo bene la mia vita, ma
tempesta
un miglio dietro
non sia arrabbiato con me
appena come mie barrette su queste chiavi

 



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