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tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
pour puis en dehors
dites-moi pas
quand absence de sa taille de montagne
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
je meurs
il y avait de trois dans le pré par le ruisseau
ainsi tombé
elle était beaucoup et beaucoup d'il y a une année
vous faites ne pas entendre
tous apaisent le long du potomac
dans le port de New York

 



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