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christian poetry

donc je ne puis pas
il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes
certains des maux que vous avez traités
splendor doux
dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
beaux, tragical visages
c'est l'arsenal
allé avant nous
mélancolie, bleu il était
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
se reposer dans son culbuteur attendant votre thé
est souvent il pas aussi?
ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi

 



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