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vieux vin à boire
dans le port de New York
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
je vois tous les esprits humains
bonne femme
j'ai gagné la course
vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous
tous ces trésors qui se trouvent
vers l'arrière, tournez vers l'arrière
complètement des larmes

 



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