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dark poetry

vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
le soleil est vers le haut
dernier minuit
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
je descends les chemins de jardin
mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant
dans une vieille chambre s'est doucement allumé
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
bas! 'tis par nuit de gala

 



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