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death poetry

Schlaf süß in Ihren humble Gräbern
ich wundere manchmal, mich wenn es wirklich zutreffend ist
das endlose, dumme merriment der Sterne
Nacht ist dunkel und die Winterwinde
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
Liebe ist tausend Möglichkeiten gesungen worden
ich wußte nie, daß die Masse soviel Gold hatte
vor langer Zeit im jungen Moonlight
Sie sind frei

 



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