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bonne femme
un orage monte sur la marée
elle doit retourner, elle a dit
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
jamais dans toute ma vie
quand vous venez ce soir
je vous attends
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
quand le vent fonctionne contre nous dans l'obscurité
hauts murs et énorme
vieux vin Ă  boire

 



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