| «No kind of sensation is keener and more active than that of pain
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| Its impressions are unmistakable»
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| Prithee… charm me fro' mine mortal guise
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| I fear, by my throth, the evenfall o' youth
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| May I succumb to thee and claim thy most vital kiss…
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| So what are you waiting for…
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| «What lack of movement! |
| What ice!
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| Nothing stirs me, nothing excites me…
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| I ask you, is this pleasure? |
| What difference on the other side!
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| What tickling on my senses! |
| What excitement in my organs»
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| Fro' Aurora’s bed, of gods eyesight lost, a sick man shed his tears
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| Did I live dead or did I live at all when I knew nought but mortal fears
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| The fume of my sighs draped the soil
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| Intertwined with the fresh morning dew
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| I bedevilled my name and succumbed to thy seductive flesh
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| In hope to remember the view
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| I taunt thee… daughter o' seraphs
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| Oh, I bevail thy loss of innocense…
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| I will write, by my troth, a sonnet to thee my beloved
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| Haunting… I wander through the crowded streets o' London
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| Dressed to kill and live and let live and leave traces o' red
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| I think I’m kinda falling in love with you
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| Oh, fair virgin… spread thy angelwings and crown me for being a madman
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| Innocense and fear, mirrored in the savage eyes of lechery
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| Sweet sixteen, sweet innocent colleen
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| I crave the sweet, sweet taste of thy naked vulva
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| Sucking, sucking… and so on and so forth 'til I besmear thy innocense
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| Mesmerized by thy poisonous wine
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| Ah, I fall in love… |