.Wochter der Zeit, im Blut eurer Wunden erbluht meine Seele.
Todessehnsucht, die einst das Bild der Sterne schrieb,
Nohrte sich von Eurer Kraft, um Euch nun fur immer zu beenden.
Von Schwielen gezeichnet war meine Seele,
Schwielen, die Eurer Honde Male trug,
Doch zur Nacht geworde.
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