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gothic poetry

ha scoppiato il vino feroce
penso spesso alla città bella
bello
li ho detestati
fiore bianco della gomma piuma, fiore rosso della fiamma
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
ci era uno strangeness sui vostri labbri
travails della terra
facce belle e tragical
dal pavimento al soffitto
faccialo rotare giù dal prato
uomo freddo severo
piantiamo

 



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