.(F. Cactus/v. Finsterwalde)
Tout le monde se fout des fleurs
De leurs p? Tales et de leurs feuilles
L'air n'est plus frais, le vent n'est plus doux
Il n'y a plus de soleil, il n'y a plus rien du tout
Et tout le monde se fout, tout le monde se fout des fleurs
(Oh tout le .
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