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family poem

lascilo essere triste
in pieno delle rotture
come io aiuti alla destra il mondo che sta andando male
non brucio incenso
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
dai prati ricchi con cereale
l'agonia di avere troppa alimentazione
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
penso spesso alla città bella
la notte era nera e drear

 



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