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broken heart poem

umsponnen und gesponnen
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
Melancholie, Blau war sie
was es die gesagten Maschinen war
wir legen
unter den Rauch und Nebel eines Dezembernachmittages
die Berge sind sie leise Völker
Moonlight tief und zart
drei Tage hörte ich sie, sich Sorgen zu machen, wann ich absolut lege
ich sterbe
sie sagte

 



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