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fleurs des bébés
parmi les montagnes j'ai erré
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
nous nous étendons
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
je ne brûle aucun encens
il est vrai que vous disiez que les dieux sont plus d'utilisation à vous que des fées
sous la barre du guerrier
je sais pas où

 



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