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gothic poetry

wenig Park, den ich durch führe
weiße Schaumgummiblume, rote Flammeblume
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
Sie sagen, daß Sie mich lieben
wenn ihr Haar wild flaying
ich kann nicht Ihnen jetzt erklären
allein
die Dichter sagen
nie in meinem ganzem Leben
Nobility des Todes wieder
es gibt ein Land voll des Weins
ich sehe einen Stern heute abend
geschaukelt in die Aufnahmevorrichtung vom tiefen

 



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