I shall strike you without anger
And without hate, like a butcher
The lymph of suffering may brim
To slake my desert of its drought
So my desire, by hope made stout
Upon your salty tears may swim
Like a vessel which puts to sea
And in my heart that they’ll make drunk
Your beloved sobs will resound
Like a drum beating the charge!
Am I not a discord
In the heavenly symphony
Thanks to voracious Irony
She’s in my voice, the termagant
All my blood is her black poison
I am the sinister mirror
In which the vixen looks
I am the wound and thе dagger
I am the blow and the cheek
I am thе members and the wheel
Victim and executioner
I’m the vampire of my own heart
One of those utter derelicts
Condemned to a hysterical laugh
And ferocious smile
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