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death poem

le soleil et vent et battement de mer
les petites pričres blanches
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
de la chanson et du ręve pour jamais allé
avec ses cheveux flaying d'une maničre extravagante
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
dans toutes les choses non parlées de
mélancolie, bleu il était
maintenant pour un combat vif et gai
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
monde qui change sous ma main

 



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