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family poetry

das Emporheben, als der Wind brannte durch
wenn Nacht entlang den Straßen der Stadt treibt
lassen Sie uns Pity die, denen besser seien Sie weg von, als wir sind
letzter Mitternacht
unter dem Helm des Warriors
geschaukelt in die Aufnahmevorrichtung vom tiefen
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
als ich in Ihre Augen schaute
Kurzschluß und süsses und wir sind zum Ende von ihm gekommen

 



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