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suicide poem

ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
mittlere Vergnügen und Paläste, obwohl wir durchstreifen können
herrlich und schrecklich Ihre Liebe
stieg und Bernstein war der Sonnenuntergang auf dem Fluß
Nacht ist dunkel und die Winterwinde
ich hatte einen Traum und ich wachte mit ihm auf
so verloren
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein


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