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roses et or
les vieilles chansons
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
la dame, votre coeur s'est tournée vers la poussière
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumière
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
j'étais une déesse avant que le marbre m'ait trouvé
je suis vieux et aveugle
dans des nombres mournful
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
qui appellera le vent

 



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