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death poem

es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
melancholische Tage sind gekommen
zwischen den musing Sonnenuntergang und die Dunkelheit
sie war eine Schönheit an den Tagen
ich bete nicht für Frieden
hohe Wände und sehr groß
alle werfen die Jahre nieder
bewiesen im Schimmer in Ihren Augen
Melancholie, Blau war sie

 



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