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christmas poems

hufig denke ich an die schne 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 schn und verblassen
sie sagte

 



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