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sad death poem

wenn Sie heute abend kommen
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
ihr schönes Haar
ich denke sie gerades herrliches
wie ich innen roofed liege, innen aussortiert
sind sie traurig, die nicht Liebe kennen
es war der Herbst des Jahres
der Schnee whispers ĂĽber mich

 



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