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suicide poem

les chansons antiques
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
un avec vous
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
il y a une heure du repos paisible
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
regardez dehors sur les étoiles, mon amour
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
tout mon amour pour mon bonbon
truely

 



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