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type of poem

mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
mit dem Sonnenuntergang
meine Seele geht in den gorgeous Sachen plattiert
in können Sie
wer der Läufer in den Himmeln ist
lassen Sie uns Pity die, denen besser seien Sie weg von, als wir sind
geschaukelt in die Aufnahmevorrichtung vom tiefen
einige windigere Tage

 



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