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c'était l'automne de l'année
au-dessus du fleuve, sur la colline
étaient elle pas pour cette odeur singulière
gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril
la lumière retirée
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage
mais alas, rêves justes
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi

 



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