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epic poetry

je réside à la montagne de table
voici ne tomber aucune lumière
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
donnez-moi
la dame, votre coeur s'est tournée vers la poussière
pourquoi
tous en baisse les années
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
a arqué l'inondation
il y avait un strangeness sur vos lèvres
dans leurs regimentals loqueteux
indéfiniment

 



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