.Il pleut des cordes, c'est ? se pendre
C'est ? se tordre et ? tout rendre
Aux ing?nues qui l'air hagard
Pr?tent leurs culs aux balan?oires
Que font tanguer un court instant
Au gr? des vents et des courants
Les vieux cromornes et leurs malaises
Regagnent leur place au P?re.
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