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i miss you poem

innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
die kleinen weißen Gebete
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
um so bald zu diesem zu kommen stellte sich Dunkelheit vor
ich muß sagen gute Nacht

 



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