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poem for pastors

wenn Freiheit von ihrer Gebirgshöhe
Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
Sie sind frei
ich schleuderte meine Seele zur Luft wie einem Falkefliegen
einige der Hurts, die Sie kuriert haben
wer den Wind nennen wird
das Swanbestehen
wie ein blanker Mann ich gehen

 



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