The muse, Redundant misfortunes And born of all cunning, Bloody pleasures. So I forgive Especially since I am being entreated And my contempt I command Towards the troughs of oblivion When the punishment is due Is of incomparable malice Exercised with bare hands In spite of the torments Goodness is only her motto And the flesh that money According to the vicious Tormented Souls Rocked by the tragic These girls and boys From an archaic bullshit, In the age of their time .
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