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funeral poem

orage
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
foncé-eyed
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
enveloppez la terre par temps nuageux
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles

 



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