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modern poetry

quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
con gli occhi meek e marroni
come come le stelle è questo il bianco, facce nameless
sonno dolce nelle vostre tombe humble
sotto la mia finestra in una via della città
quindi non posso
alcuni dei hurts che avete curato
non prego per pace
veda, da questa falsificazione di lui

 



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