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sad poem

si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
la nuit était noire et triste
à partir des prés riches avec du maïs
apportez-moi la chanson douce
allés sont les trois, ces soeurs rares
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
l'aube était vert pomme
gloom
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée

 



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