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sorry poem

les montagnes ils sont les gens silencieux
laissez-nous pitié ceux outre dont soyez meilleur que nous sont
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
pour la vérité, pour l'amour
là par la fenêtre dans la vieille maison
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
je remplis cette tasse
à partir des prés riches avec du maïs

 



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