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ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
si perdu
il y a une ville, builded par aucune main
elle était une beauté en jours
il n'y a aucune évasion par le fleuve
jusqu'à sa fenêtre de chambre
serene d'après-midi et lumineux verts
soyez patient, la vie, quand l'amour est à la porte
qui est le coureur dans les cieux

 



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