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type of poetry

sous la lune de moisson
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
levé des morts
s'il
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
et pain de breaketh pas plus
il y avait un strangeness sur vos lèvres
mais alas, rĂŞves justes
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
ainsi tombé

 



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