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teen poem

vous faites ne pas entendre
de la chanson et du rêve pour jamais allé
dans les halls du sommeil vous avez erré près
et ils marchaient toujours dessus
la noblesse de la mort encore
s'il
souvent je pense à la belle ville
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
sous la lune de moisson
je sais ce que vous allez dire
il y avait de trois dans le pré par le ruisseau
splendor doux
pas du monde large de totalité

 



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