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birthday poem

ein mit Ihnen
drehen Sie mich unten durch die Wiese
diese sind
Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
Blüten der Babys
ich sah, daß Gott Sie es? bezweifeln
ich liebe, eine Weile weg zu stehlen
in Ihren Armen war ruhige Freude
folglich kann ich nicht
schreckliche Wahrheiten diese sind
es gibt ein Land voll des Weins


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