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lyric poem

comme bougie blanche
dans le port de New York
la nuit passée la pleine lune a étendu un tissu de blanc
hauts murs et énorme
regarder là-bas
une petite pêche dans le verger s'est développée
tressé et tissé
je vous chante
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement

 



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