.Rue du malheur, rôdent les vautours
Et les enfants qui pleurent attendent toujours
Un avenir plus beau, hors des noirs ghettos
Tristes comme des cimetières remplis de crasse, de misère...
Aux tréfonds de la cité, les jeunes désoeuvrés
Se fondent dans la nuit, dans un m.
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