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cowboy poetry

il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes
les montagnes ils sont les gens silencieux
prenez mes bracelets
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
y a il quiconque là
pour la vérité, pour l'amour
la nuit est foncée, et les vents d'hiver
je ne brûle aucun encens
le ciel

 



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