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sorry poem

es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
ich wundere mich, wo Sie leben
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
ich habe das Rennen gewonnen
jetzt, während meine Lippen leben
bis zu ihrem Raumfenster
seien Sie in mir als die ewigen Stimmungen
wie das Glätten fällt
in das leise Land

 



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