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Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
melancholische Tage sind gekommen
wir, die standen
wenn der Schleier von den Augen angehoben wird
er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
vor er war viele und viel einem Jahr
was wir jetzt tut
Roses und Gold
wenig Park, den ich durch fhre
ich sagte
gute Frau
Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne

 



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