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lyric poem

so verloren
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
der Blitz blitzte und hob an
gerade als meine Finger auf diesen Schlüsseln
einige windigere Tage
ich gehe meine Weise complacently
eine Meile nach
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
seien Sie nicht falsch
schön

 



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