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suicide poem

sous ma fenĂŞtre dans une rue de ville
dites-moi pas
comment j'aidez vers la droite le monde qui tourne mal
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
avec le coucher du soleil
ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi
ĂŞtes vous vivant?
ne soyez pas fâché avec moi
il y avait de trois dans le pré par le ruisseau
nos moments plaisants volent
je vois tous les esprits humains

 



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