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poesia A bird A bird has flown out from my eyes and he flies away from me He is me, and he is free. He doesn't know where it goes but it isn't a problem for him He doesn't want to stop his fly He isn't thirsty or hungry. He's free and he's me He hasn't rules or questions. He doesn't looking for answers or something. He is. giovedì 02 luglio 2009 |
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