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süsses splendor
lassen Sie mich durch die Straße langsam bewegen
wenn ich sterbe, denken Sie nur dieses an mich
Sie sagen, daß Sie mich lieben
ich kann nicht Ihnen jetzt erklären
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
die hypocritic Tage
lassen Sie uns errichten
hören Sie
warum Sie immer der dort shivering Standplatz tun Sie
ein Blick ist aber ein Strahl

 



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