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son poem

weich als das Bett in der Masse
gestiegen von den Toten
wenig Gatter wurde schließlich erreicht
sehen Sie, von dieser Fälschung von ihm
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
der Blitz blitzte und hob an
die Berge sind sie leise Völker


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