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Facteur Divin
06:00
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A fire beside her on the street
A man with a can of gasoline
Her body bent like a question mark
A mundane martyr we never will meet.
Embers like eagles float on the wing
Matches strike chords that make me sing
The postman rings twice, his package divine
Our wandering souls, the sun through the pines.
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Pale Antique Las Vegas, Nevada
Moonlight-breasted, pale, antique.
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