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memorial poem

ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
geschaukelt in die Aufnahmevorrichtung vom tiefen
erklären Sie mir weniger oder erklären Sie mir mehr
der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
ich hörte den Wind aller Tag
was wir jetzt tut
es gibt ein Land voll des Weins
häufig denke ich an die schöne Stadt

 



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