.Blattgold auf Anthrazit
Der Himmel glüht
Der Pulsschlag der Stadt verlangsamt sich
Bis er fast versiegt
Zerrspiegel reflektieren das bunte Grau
Tropfen funkeln blau
Häuser spucken dunklen Rauch
Ich hol noch einmal Luft
Bevor die Sonne untertaucht.
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