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dny w pryzmach marnuje siÄ opaÅ
I zimny komin zbÄdne ma przestoje
Mizerne niebo czeka na swój pokarm
TÅuste obÅoki sÅodkich swÄ
dów zwoje
SkrzÄtni palacze gdzieÅ siÄ zapodziali
WystygÅy ruszta popióŠtuli glina
I w bezcielesnym milczeniu umarli
SÅuchajÄ
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