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A relief from stress, such a sweet paradise
A deafening crash then a blinding light
Poor boy, your fate is sealed like loaded dice.
Due to beastly luck this child I must smite.
Perhaps he'll go where I have yet to behold;
This kind, bereaved, extinguished progeny.
Ill-fated boy, please reach those gates of gold.
Oh, child! Why walk the streets of Germany?
Fully at rest for all eternity,
All I can do is hope forever that
Maybe the last thing you saw wasn't me.
My last image? Your torn figure laid flat.