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suicide poem

wir waren nicht viele
ich stehe im kalten grauen Wetter
als weiße Kerze
meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
für Wahrheit für Liebe
tat Sie sehen überhaupt ein Krokodil
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
wölbte die Flut


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