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sad poetry

son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
comme je me trouve couvert dedans, examiné dedans
je réside à la montagne de table
c'est le bateau de la perle
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré
c'était l'automne de l'année
quand je suis retourné au coucher du soleil

 



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