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pumpkin poem

je ne brûle aucun encens
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
mélancolie, bleu il était
dans la terre silencieuse
sommeil gentiment dans vos tombes humbles
à travers He va
comme un homme nu je vont
indéfiniment
les chansons antiques
par le pont grossier
parmi les montagnes j'ai erré
elle doit retourner, elle a dit

 



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