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suicide poem

pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
et pendant que nous marchions l'herbe a été faiblement remuée
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
la nuit était noire et triste
nous n'étions pas beaucoup
je me demande où vous vivez
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
les bateaux se situent dans le compartiment
ma mère m'a enseigné que chaque nuit
ce que je souhaite remarquer
elle pourrait l'avoir su en ressort premier

 



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