.Die Engel werden trinken des b?sen Blut,
Das L?wenherz wird brechen in des Feuers Glut.
Furcht erf?llt die Nacht, der Nordwind bl??t kalt,
Mein Name er t?nt, durch die Nacht er hallt.
Trauer sich qu?lend durch mein Herz,
Zur?ck nur bleibt der Schmerz.
Rot ist geword.
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