.Ils vont, vaincus, les yeux pleurant des larmes
Noires et gluantes, sang, poussières et leur peau
Se décolle et boursoufle dans le vent funeste
Qui se déchaîne comme l'enfer sur la terre
De longs filets de peau balancaient au bout des doigts
Ils vont bras and avant, la terreu.
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