| Wicked clouds over my head
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| They are greedy as the pressure of time
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| A life-potion has spilt, all is dead
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| Like a light of the immense eternity
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| Embracing my last will, blood is my bread
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| My words are the pictures
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| The pictures of my sorrow
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| Floating in the raptures
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| Incessant raptures that I follow
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| My muse is so huge, but not serene
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| As the haze in the ancient woods
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| As the grangeur of the Tatras
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| As the endless sidereal time
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| Penetrating through my mind
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| And the loveliness of pleasure I can’t find
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| I hold the key to the enigmatic gate
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| As I pass through my life to dream
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| To discover the secret clutches of fate
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| And listen to the silent waterstream
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| Trees cry in my arms
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| Dry with no splendour
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| Delight has forever gone
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| Bloody dawn torn by the thunder
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| I am element of neverending light
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| But I am also the element of the night
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| I fan the fires burning all the happiness
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| I am a herald of sorrow and wretchedness |