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gothic poetry

je suis fevered
tous apaisent le long du potomac
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
nous avons aucune honte?
les cieux qu'ils étaient ashen et sobre
je les ai entendus la nuit
qui aime la pluie
ces yeux noirs i une fois ainsi félicité
de la chanson et du ręve pour jamais allé
je me tiens par temps gris froid
dossier une nuit de vol
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
je vous chante

 



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