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funeral poem

sous la barre du guerrier
dans le port de New York
un dieu
est souvent il pas aussi?
dans leurs regimentals loqueteux
frère, je suis le feu
à travers He va
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
treize ans toujours
vous dites que vous m'aimez
très bien, vous libéraux
exprimons nos passions plus basses

 



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