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funeral poem

ein Vogel sang
ich singe Ihnen
zu einigem die fetten Götter
der Schnee whispers über mich
geben Sie mich
Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
dieses ist der Song von Jugend
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
lassen Sie uns unsere niedrigeren Neigungen ausdrücken

 



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