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famous poem

der Blitz blitzte und hob an
die Berge sind sie leise Völker
die auf das Oberseite sagen, daß sie Sie, Masse kennen -- sie sind Lügner
Glück
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
fällt hier kein Licht
für dann außen
es gibt Gewinne für alle unsere Verluste
seien Sie nicht falsch
von unseren versteckten Plätzen
in Ihren Armen war ruhige Freude
um so bald zu diesem zu kommen stellte sich Dunkelheit vor
mit den meek, braunen Augen

 



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