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fall poem

gerade als meine Finger auf diesen Schlüsseln
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
hatten er und i aber getroffen
geben Sie mir Hunger
drei Tage hörte ich sie, sich Sorgen zu machen, wann ich absolut lege
in können Sie
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken

 



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