A Split-Second rigor mortis gothic

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Cold and alone in the vinyard he lies
Stained and all broken the nightingale dies
Looking from your window
I can see the snow
Freezing cold
Grinding to a halt
On stonecold gravel
Freeze alone
Turning away from the wasted hours
Turning away from the wasted years

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN