Wild grows the flower of my anger and all see the plug that into the sky sunk
blood oozing from my
sun grows the flower of my bitterness of this herb
wash my feet
my bread
Lord
that chokes the flower in the wheel compartment of the night
the flower of my Lord wheat
the flower of my soul God
disprezzami
I sick of this flower that sprouts red to me about my pain in the brain
Thomas Bernhard
"In Hora Mortis"
SE, 2002
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