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good bye poem

unter dem Erntemond
erklären Sie mir nicht
gegangen vor uns
ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
die alten Songs
haben Sie gesehenes Gehen durch das Dorf
die auf das Oberseite sagen, daĂź sie Sie, Masse kennen -- sie sind LĂĽgner
eine Feder des Stahls
Freund, dessen Lächeln gekommen ist zu sein

 



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