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i love you poem

fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-FaĂźraum
die Berge sind sie leise Völker
ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
es war der Herbst des Jahres
wenig Park, den ich durch fĂĽhre
weich weinend
von Song und Traum fĂĽr ĂĽberhaupt gegangen
babylon -- wo ich gehe zu träumen
hängen Sie keinen Wreath
nun da ich zu Ihnen abgekĂĽhlt bin
wenn ich sehr sicher war
königliches Fest war erfolgt
er spricht nicht gut

 



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