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thanksgiving poetry

Freund, dessen Lächeln gekommen ist zu sein
in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt
drei Tage hörte ich sie, sich Sorgen zu machen, wann ich absolut lege
es gab ein strangeness auf Ihren Lippen
von unseren versteckten Plätzen
im Hafen neuen Yorks
ich bin fevered
und so geht sie
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
meine Seele ist ein dunkles gepflogenes Feld

 



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