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penso spesso alla cittŕ bella
dai prati ricchi con cereale
senza sosta
oscillato nella culla del profondo
ma non posso ora leggerlo
sono nell'amore con gli alti posti far-seeing
quando vado di nuovo a terra
era una bellezza nei giorni
malinconia, azzurro era
quell'anno
e cosě va
quando ero si č rotto a Londra
short e dolce ed abbiamo arrivato alla fine di esso
rompiamo il vetro di cui vino sacred

 



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