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death poem

et avec l'oiseau de ronflement
y a il quiconque là
qui aime la pluie
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
j'aime ma vie, mais pas trop bien
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
la nuit était noire et triste
et mon nom est véridique
babylon -- où je vais rêver
je ne brûle aucun encens
j'étais une déesse avant que le marbre m'ait trouvé

 



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