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lassen Sie hören
ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
und noch gingen sie an
weiße Schaumgummiblume, rote Flammeblume
ich liebte eine Frau
umsponnen und gesponnen
sie sagte
entlang einem River-side
Musik I hörte mit Ihnen war mehr als Musik
voll von den Rissen
zu einigem die fetten Götter
als Meer-Winde unsere Solitudes durchbohrten

 



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