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unter dem Erntemond
gebildet vom loveliness alleine
meine sorge, wenn sie hier mit mir ist
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
was spiteful Wahrscheinlichkeit unawares stiehlt
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
wenn der Wind gegen uns in der Dunkelheit arbeitet
ich ging auf und ab die Straßen

 



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