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death poetry

im September
Farbtöne der Nacht fielen schnell
es gibt kein Entweichen durch den Fluß
es gibt Gewinne für alle unsere Verluste
letzter Mitternacht
sie kennt eine preiswerte Freigabe
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet
geschaukelt in die Aufnahmevorrichtung vom tiefen
der Körper kann begrenzen

 



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