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während ich das Hören stand, diskret dumb
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
hoch-getragenes Rennen
Farbtöne der Nacht fielen schnell
dort durch das Fenster im alten Haus
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
burly, DösenHumblebiene

 



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