.Storie da marciapiede
Quartiere otto in riva alla citt?
Litigarsi il cielo a pezzi
Non? Pi? Un giocco per la mia et?
Un p? Di rabbia in bocca
Attento al primo treno che partir?
Tra quelli della strada
La prima musica dentro picchiava gi?
Fumo le mie giornate
.
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