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Lion from midnight

That's what the vernacular calls it. I pray for you every night,

I have seen and loved you, the blue-eyed king! 

And then you saw me, and I was allowed to talk to you and caress your hairless hair. 

And you kissed me. My King, I'm just a simple maid,

but now richer than the mistress of the estate and probably even the queen. 

No one else will ever kiss me again, and if you die, I die too. 

It is certainly a sin to love a king and to die with him, but it is war and death everywhere. 

There, I think, must be said quickly, what makes me so happy,

because maybe tomorrow you will not hear it anymore, and I can not say it anymore,

because the death in between. 

And then the pastor also thinks: When fighting is done, many crooked things are straight. 

So it's probably not a sin,

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