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best friend poem

ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
lassen Sie uns Pity die, denen besser seien Sie weg von, als wir sind
diese Herzen wurden von den menschlichen Freuden und Obacht gesponnen
ich sah, daß Gott Sie es? bezweifeln
entlang den Bänken
sind Sie wach?
Material des Mondes
königliches Fest war erfolgt
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken

 



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