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sommeil, frère gris de la mort
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
l'obscurité
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
vécu à côté de la rive
treize ans toujours
et pain de breaketh pas plus
tout mon amour pour mon bonbon
certains des maux que vous avez traités
allés sont les trois, ces soeurs rares
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage
quand absence de sa taille de montagne
il y a un pays complètement de vin

 



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