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death poem

à certains les gros dieux
le pré rampait
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre
j'ai gagné la course
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
nos moments plaisants volent
dans des nombres mournful
polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu
ils dans le rassemblement d'obscurité et demandent
le mouvement de votre corps est comme la musique
avec le coucher du soleil

 



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