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poetry poem

quando la notte va alla deriva lungo le vie della città
così caduto
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
corsa alto-sopportata
i giorni malinconici sono venuto
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente è stata mescolata
se muoio, pensi soltanto questo me
non giri la vostra testa
la musica i si è sentita con voi era più della musica

 



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