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le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
dans pouvez
donnez-moi
quand je vais de nouveau à la terre
descendu à l'aube des collines windless
près d'un champ en détresse
pourrions nous mais savoir
seule
qui aime la pluie
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré
volonté vous miroitez sur la mer?
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé

 



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