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suicide poem

mit den meek, braunen Augen
gaily durch die Felder tanzten wir
ein kleiner Pfirsich im Obstgarten wuchs
sie fragen mich, wo ich gewesen bin
was wir jetzt tut
vor langer Zeit im jungen Moonlight
ich stehe im kalten grauen Wetter
ist häufig er nicht so?
innerhalb dieses niedrigen Grabs liegt ein conqueror
die Qual des Habens zu vieler Energie
von Fußboden zu Decke


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