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en ce moment
dans votre vol
pensées par ma tête
quelques jours plus venteux
elle boite avec stopper le pas douloureux
sous la lune de moisson
ils dans le rassemblement d'obscurité et demandent
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
elle pourrait l'avoir su en ressort premier
au-dessus du fleuve, sur la colline
je descends les chemins de jardin

 



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