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mother poem

l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
je l'aime
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
le parfum est venu
effrayé pas plus, je dis
elle était une beauté en jours
vous entendez la pluie?
et mon nom est véridique
dans le port de New York
il y a un pays complètement de vin

 



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