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suicide poem

exprimons nos passions plus basses
souffleur de verre de temps
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
et avec l'oiseau de ronflement
splendide et terrible votre amour
de la chanson et du rêve pour jamais allé
éliminer, luttant vainly
lĂ  oĂą je trouvez-vous
il aurait mĂŞme sa plaisanterie
il est venu me prendre par la main
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire

 



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