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teen poem

il y a un pays complètement de vin
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
doucement maintenant la lumière du jour
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
je sais pas où
un mille derrière
les voûtes du pont rouge
je réside à la montagne de table
travails de la terre
en tant qu'elle

 



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