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religious poem

un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
nel gather di nerezza e chiedono
quando vado di nuovo a terra
li ho detestati
ho vinto la corsa
per veritŕ, per amore
alcuni dei hurts che avete curato
con il tramonto
la notte scorsa la luna piena ha posto un panno del bianco
short e dolce ed abbiamo arrivato alla fine di esso
l'alba era verde mela
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire

 



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