The black snow that runs from the rooftops; A red finger dips into your forehead Blue flakes sink into the bare room, These are the dead mirrors of lovers. (Georg Trakl)

The black snow that runs from the rooftops; A red finger dips into your forehead Blue flakes sink into the bare room, These are the dead mirrors of lovers.

Georg Trakl

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bare black dead finger forehead red room sink snow runs

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