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beaux, tragical visages
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
je vous chante
du soleil ni des étoiles
la dame, votre coeur s'est tournée vers la poussière
splendor doux
je suis une femme
dans ma main je me tiens
a arqué l'inondation


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