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break up poem

häufig denke ich an die schöne Stadt
wo ich sollen Sie, finden Sie Sie
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden
weich als das Bett in der Masse
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
truely
was es die gesagten Maschinen war
ein Himmel, der nie Sonne, Mond oder Sterne gekannt hat
Sie sind schön und verblassen
sie sagte

 



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