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prose poetry

amico, di cui il sorriso č venuto essere
una tempesta sta guidando sulla marea
veda che mi dň voi
fate non sentirsi
la notte era nera e drear
le vecchie canzoni
ho entrato nel deserto perché la mia anima č athirst
prima del san bronze solenne
felicitŕ
i giorni hypocritic
da solo
all'interno della mia mano tengo
la canzone e sogno da per andato mai

 



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