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poem for pastors

ich weiß, was Sie sagen werden
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling
Welt, die unter meiner Hand ändert
geheimnisvolle Nacht
ich loathed Sie
warum Sie immer der dort shivering Standplatz tun Sie
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
wenn ihr Haar wild flaying

 



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