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a arqué l'inondation
leurs beaux cheveux
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
les vérités terribles ceux-ci soient
vous a fait entendent parler jamais
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
comme un homme nu je vont
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent

 



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