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sad poem

quand je vais de nouveau ŕ la terre
démontré dans la lueur vacillante dans vos yeux
nous qui se sont tenus
son gris bascule toujours la tour au-dessus de la mer
elle boite avec stopper le pas douloureux
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
je suis las d'ętre amer et las d'ętre sage
souffleur de verre de temps

 



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