| to you I now descend, oh you, deluded souls.
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| and to purge your sorrow, you forlorn spirits,
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| the curse I shall invoke
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| the misanthropic curse, with its sordid, purple claws
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| to carve your forehead, instead of cattlebrand
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| with iron burnt in fire
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| in vain will pride be seethed in veins dried up and scorched
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| in death-swallowed eyeballs, on foreheads purple-hued
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| by putrid blood that died
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| what can I ever chose from your exhausted entity
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| no fires free from dying, no undeceiving right
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| oh, you dead men walking
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| see, how urns now burst, the ashes resurrect
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| alike the past, which murmurs with the battle-cry
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| of the roman empire
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| see the far-off shadows, they dress in steely armour
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| and raise their noble foreheads that gone grey
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| great traian and great cesar
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| the rotten thrones are crumbling swept by tempests waters
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| the rulers iron scepters, the heavy chain of slaves
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| together are now crushed
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| the gates of the inferno outrageously wide-opened
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| engulfing now by thousands the filthy, depraved breaths
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| of tyrants grim who perish
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| oh, holy visionary minds, who set the stars to sing…
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| who create another world on this realms of mud and grime
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| fools and wise, young and old, sound, soul and light
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| all is dust, the world’s like this, and so we all are |