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romantic poetry

quando la notte va alla deriva lungo le vie della città
come livellare cade
fate sentirsi
li ho detestati
dicami non
ma non posso ora leggerlo
devo dire buona notte
agito i miei capelli nel vento della mattina
travails della terra
desolato e solo
l'alba era verde mela
hanno gettato una pietra, voi hanno gettato una pietra
l'agonia di avere troppa alimentazione

 



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