.Tu l'as senti.
Son souffle fin file et fuit entre tes mains.
Fade pourpin glissant sous vos draps de demain.
Les singes vont et viennent dans ta tête.
Et se ploient sous vos lits de cachette.
Les tueurs aspermes léchant leurs verges.
En sors l'enfant des moteurs liberticide.
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