Neoarchaean

True sorrow doesn't flirt with hopeNo matter how great it may be: hope rises twice as highBut spare me these seekers!Leave me in peaceDown with them, down, down, down, down! That which suffers, does never hopeFor they will no longer impress meWith all of the solemnity and with the voice of my greatest days: I call to you my hearth, glorious hope! Wrapped in the cloak of illusionsCome and sit beside meOn the tripod of appeasementWith a whip of scorpions I chased you! If you wish me to believe thatYou have forgotten all the griefWhich my short-lived repentance caused you: Well, then bring along with youThe sublime procession - hold me up, I am fainting! - of all the virtues which I offended... and their everlasting atonementsYes, good peopleI order you to burnOn a spade red-hot from the fireAnd with a little yellow sugar for good measure: to burn the duck of doubtWith its vermouth lips... which in the melancholy struggle between good and evilShedding teardrops which are not heartfeltCreates everywhere, universal emptiness! It is the best thing you can doCertainly, flesh and bone, you have no reason to blush: but listen to meI don't invoke your understandingIt would spit blood at the horror you cause! Better forget all about it, and be consistent with yourselves! There were no constraints thereWhenever I wanted to kill... I killed