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sad poetry

ne restez pas plus
il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes
je suis allé à travers les rues
je me tiens par temps gris froid
comme bougie blanche
à minuit
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
je dois dire bonne nuit
quand, plein de l'amour chaud et désireux
ils peuvent parler de l'amour dans une petite maison
puisque j'ai senti le sens de la mort
qui est le coureur dans les cieux
j'ai moulé le monde
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien

 



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