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sad poem

wölbte die Flut
ich ging auf und ab die Straßen
die Dichter sagen
ich fülle diese Schale
lassen Sie mich traurig sein
ihr schönes Haar
O angemessen und stately Mädchen, dessen Augen
meine ganze Liebe für meinen Bonbon
ich liege am Tabellenberg
rühren Sie sich
es gibt ein Land voll des Weins
die alten Songs

 



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