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suicide poem

wo ich sollen Sie, finden Sie Sie
im Hafen neuen Yorks
in den Wolke-grauen Morgen
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind
als Meer-Winde unsere Solitudes durchbohrten
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling
wenn Nacht entlang den Straßen der Stadt treibt
holen Sie mir weichen Song
Glück

 



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