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gothic poetry

quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
ne tournez pas votre tête
doucement pleurant
les jours hypocrites
le parfum est venu
la lumière retirée
comme un homme nu je vont
elle était beaucoup et beaucoup d'il y a une année
éliminer, luttant vainly
elle a éclaté le vin féroce
quatre-vingts ans ont passé, et plus
le mystère le plus foncé et le plus étrange
les montagnes ils sont les gens silencieux
chien de guingan et le chat de calicot

 



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