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sad poetry

si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
tous ces trésors qui se trouvent
hors de la mer de scintillement
vers l'arrière, tournez vers l'arrière
je ne brûle aucun encens
environ porté plainte au maître
il y a un pays complètement de vin
j'ai jeté mon âme à l'air comme un vol de faucon

 



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