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li ho detestati
che cosa noi ora farà
sonno, fratello grigio della morte
città che non è una città
ora mentre i miei labbri stanno vivendo
glooms delle viv-quercie
una tempesta sta guidando sulla marea
vedo tutti gli spiriti umani
limps con la fermata del passo doloroso
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?

 



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