True sorrow doesn't flirt with hope No matter how great it may be: hope rises twice as high But spare me these seekers! Leave me in peace Down with them, down, down, down, down! That which suffers, does never hope For they will no longer impress me With all of the solemnity and with the voice of my greatest days: I call to you my hearth, glorious hope! Wrapped in the cloak of illusions Come and sit beside me On the tripod of appeasement With a whip of scorpions I chased you! If you wish me to believe that You have forgotten all the grief Which my short-lived repentance caused you: Well, then bring along with you The sublime procession - hold me up, I am fainting! - of all the virtues which I offended... and their everlasting atonements Yes, good people I order you to burn On a spade red-hot from the fire And with a little yellow sugar for good measure: to burn the duck of doubt With its vermouth lips... which in the melancholy struggle between good and evil Shedding teardrops which are not heartfelt Creates everywhere, universal emptiness! It is the best thing you can do Certainly, flesh and bone, you have no reason to blush: but listen to me I don't invoke your understanding It would spit blood at the horror you cause! Better forget all about it, and be consistent with yourselves! There were no constraints there Whenever I wanted to kill... I killed
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