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lyric poem

wenn ihr Haar wild flaying
die Schwärzung rollt aufwärts
Überschreiten durch die huddled und häßlichen Wände
schön
ich kann nicht Ihnen jetzt erklären
hängen Sie keinen Wreath
er wird gegangen
ihr Gesicht ist angemessen und glatt und fein
an der Dämmerung sagte er
gestiegen von den Toten

 



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