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Thy gift, that bland imperious glance that hallows The damned, and damns the blest about the gallows, Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
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You fix your mask, accomplice full of guile, On rich men's foreheads, pitiless and vile.
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A new version of Last. Whores Satana who put in the eyes and hearts of prostitutes The cult of sores and the love of rags and tatters.