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baby poem

un avec vous
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
composé seul du loveliness
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
je suis fevered
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
j'ai aimé une femme
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
je sais pas où
orage
pourquoi puis, la nécessité nous voient?

 



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