.A mes crevures de gares
Qui suintent des boulevards
De PMUs aux larmes
En crocodiles, rois gang t'as
Halo noir sur la ville
Kafka dans la tour>Mate la mort qui se dessine
Tracées à l'acre des jours
à mon grand feu de bouche
On n'y respire qu'Ã peine
Tout m'y monte Ã.
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