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il y avait un temps en anciennes années
levé des morts
j'ai vu la première poire
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
je suis vieux et aveugle
qui aime la pluie
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
donnez-moi la faim
dans le port de New York
j'ai vu les nuages parmi les collines
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
la lumière retirée
bien que je sois peu en tant que toutes les petites choses

 



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