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dark poetry

in sua tenda custodita
in tutte le cose non parlate di
come esso
lŕ dalla finestra nella vecchia casa
mi levo in piedi nel tempo grigio freddo
pensieri tramite la mia testa
quegli occhi neri i una volta cosě elogiato
metŕ di piaceri e palazzi benchč possiamo vagare
il vecchio ovest, il vecchio tempo
vecchio vino da bere

 



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