.A ces morts debout, dont le regard creux atterre,
Ces sourires de fou qui appartiennent à hier.
Des voiles devant les yeux, des menottes aux poignets,
Qui poussent peu à peu, les gens à s'éloigner.
A ceux qui frôlent le pays de la marge,
Qui s'enferment dans leurs geôles et devi.
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