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la lumière retirée
je vous attends
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant
son visage est juste et lisse et bon
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
je ne brûle aucun encens
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
le long d'une rive
dans des nombres mournful

 



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