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sorry poem

mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
de la chanson et du rêve pour jamais allé
complètement des larmes
dans toutes les choses non parlées de
vieux vin à boire
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
elle connaît un dégagement bon marché
est souvent il pas aussi?
ce qui je vous doivent

 



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