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sad death poem

ich mag es
der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
die Schwärzung stiehlt die Formen aller Königinnen
was es die gesagten Maschinen war
welches ich erwähnen möchte
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
vor drei Jahren heute
ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
sie hat einen freien Raum, Wind-geschütztes loveliness

 



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