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christian poem

allé avant nous
il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes
vous entendez la pluie?
pourquoi si triste mon bel?
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
vécu à côté de la rive
c'est la chanson de la jeunesse
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
ne restez pas plus
avant le saint en bronze solennel
et mon nom est véridique

 



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