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machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
seien Sie in mir als die ewigen Stimmungen
Überschreiten durch die huddled und häßlichen Wände
wie wie die Sterne dieses Weiß ist, namenlose Gesichter
er spricht nicht gut
oben auslösen, unten fallend
ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
Standplatz hier durch meine Seite

 



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