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poem

vous dites que vous m'aimez
je suis le vent qui hésite
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
il n'y a aucune bande, toutefois observé et tendu
j'aime ma vie, mais pas trop bien
ceux sur le supérieur indiquent qu'elles vous connaissent, la terre -- elles sont des menteurs

 



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