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grandmother poem

la nuit était noire et triste
laissez-moi être triste
je me demande où vous vivez
n'accrochez aucune guirlande
il parle pas bien
à minuit
elle pourrait l'avoir su en ressort premier
dites-moi pas
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre
hors de la fenêtre une mer des arbres verts
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre

 



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