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son poem

es gibt Gewinne für alle unsere Verluste
wer der Läufer in den Himmeln ist
ein Himmel, der nie Sonne, Mond oder Sterne gekannt hat
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
durch das Ufer durch das Meer
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
ich erwarte Sie
erinnern sich Sie

 



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