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Artist I leaf through the pages of this book And again I think of you It is a book of artists, mad but honest, who do what they please believe me, it would have been perfect to blossom there like a rose. I know, you've said it so many times That living is worthwhile only for that. And now that you have immensity and all the lights before you, sing, sing again the only audience that can understand you tell me, tell us softly that I won't miss that madness. Coming to grips with your mysticism has often made me reflect searching, understanding, becoming a man has been easier and in this August night I stop to salute your star on this night of falling stars that look like tears but you smile to me. Look at my wet verses, they are only for us Sing, sing louder, make me feel that I am far your ingenuous surprise reminds me that the artist is here. Gian Filippo Cameli |
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