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cowboy poetry

wir, die standen
seien Sie nicht falsch
innerhalb dieses niedrigen Grabs liegt ein conqueror
Farbtöne der Nacht fielen schnell
Bonbon mit Farn und stieg
es gab drei in der Wiese durch den Bach
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
ich bin alt und blind
ich habe sie in der Nacht gehört
was spiteful Wahrscheinlichkeit unawares stiehlt
Kurzschluß und süsses und wir sind zum Ende von ihm gekommen
das Licht zurückgenommen

 



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