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mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant
il aurait même sa plaisanterie
il y avait un temps en anciennes années
j'ai entendu le vent toute la journée
ville qui n'est pas une ville
quand j'étais a enfoncé à Londres
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
musing, entre le coucher du soleil et l'obscurité
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse


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