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Ça empeste

You don’t have to sing for me, just whistle
Your self esteem is like a notch below Kafka’s
A beauty still more beautiful in death
(“Tu marches sur des morts, Beauté, dont tu te moques”, Baudelaire, Hymne à la beauté)
Why did you ever come to call ? For in this far forgotten spot, we never should have met at all. And all this pain, so burning hot, I might have missed (Pouchkine, Eugène Onegine)