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gothic poetry

unnachgiebige Vergangenheit des thou
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind
unter den Bergen wandered ich
ich sah, daß Gott Sie es? bezweifeln
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
und breakethbrot nicht mehr
der Körper kann begrenzen
Gedanken durch meinen Kopf
traurige Rolle der gedämpften Trommel hat Schlag
die Schiffe liegen in der Bucht
sie sprengte fierce Wein

 



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