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family poem

von unseren versteckten Plätzen
wenn es
wenig Gatter wurde schließlich erreicht
ich starrte den prachtvollen Himmel an
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
königliches Fest war erfolgt
er spricht nicht gut
gerade als meine Finger auf diesen Schlüsseln


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