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Inocculta

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Inocculta

Un Dernier Soupir

Dark gleam, first hope.
The lies waver, fade. The Man rises, taken exhilaration. He transcends himself, forgets
himself, dies, liberated from his false values. Fleeting pain, infinite pleasure, let's liberate the Man of this moral which is vice. The Soul is only one tear,
a last sigh. Blood mingles with tears. Let's find the torment's ether.