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short poem

il piů triste dell'anno
in pieno delle rotture
vi ricordate di
quindi non posso
perchč sono le cose che non hanno morte
non sia falso
faccio la mia protezione, ma nessuno sa
ora che mi sono raffreddato a voi
tengo il vostro cuore
la musica i si č sentita con voi era piů della musica
un'ombra grigia sottile sul bordo di pensiero

 



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