Disc 1 | ||||||
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1. |
| 6:47 | ![]() |
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He gave to her, yet tenfold claim'd in return -
She hath no life but the one he for her wrought; Proffer'd to her his wauking heart - she turn'd it down, Ripostéd with a tell-tale lore of lies and scorn. Prophetess or fond?, Tho' her parle of truth: «I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!», Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane - Sëer of the future, not of twain, «Sicker!», quoth Cassandra. Still, is she lief and quaint in his eyne, a sight divine? - A mistress fuell´d by his prest haughtiness - If he did grant, wherefore then did he not foresee, Belike egal as it to him might be?! Prophetess or fond?, Tho' her parle of truth: «I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!», Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane - Sëer of the future, not of twain, «Sicker!», quoth Cassandra. 'Or was he an æriéd being, 'Or was he weening - alack nay mo; Her naysay' raught his heart, Her daffing was the grave of all hope - She beliéd her own words, He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge, She held him august, yet wee; He left her ne'er without his heart |
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2. |
| 5:36 | ![]() |
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Ferie dearest, was it loe soothfast or a faade;
A serenade siren'd to lure - Zounds! not to court me? A menad, yet the sweetest colleen - Certes didst thou me unveil meekly life pristine. Lorelei, A poet of tragedies, scribe I lauds to Death, Yet who the hell was I to dare? Lorelei, Canst thou not see thou to me needful art? Canst thou not see the loss of loe painful is? Dedally didst thou perform the tragic pasquinade, For all years a damndest and driegh'd accolade - Caus'd for all eyes mazed to behold a mlee; In the midst did I swainly cast thee my bouquet: The one and sole faggot that feedeth the fire, Bellow'd bidingly by my heart's quailing quire. Lorelei, A poet of tragedies, scribe I lauds to Death, Yet who the hell was I to dare? Lorelei, Canst thou not see thou to me needful art? Canst thou not see the loss of loe painful is? Perchance author I thee this ikon'd apologue for aught, Doth the wecht burthen thee?, then bethink thine afterthought: 'Tween Aether and 'Nether art thou the peerless phoenix - Prithee, darlingmost! - court me rather than the peevish prolix. |
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3. |
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4. |
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5. |
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6. |
| 5:31 | ![]() |
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to moon6pence from shootingstar
Circa mea pectora multa sunt suspiria De tua pulchritudine, que me ledunt misere. Venus! - I trow'd thou wast my friend - Professed to Heaven thou wouldst send; As a disciple of a villain Didst thou act the tragedienne. Iam amore virginali totus ardeo. Amor volat undique, captus est libidine. Venus! - I trow'd thou wast my friend - Professed to Heaven thou wouldst send; As a disciple of a villain Didst thou act the tragedienne. Iam amore virginali totus ardeo. Circa mea pectora multa sunt suspiria De tua pulchritudine, que me ledunt misere. Tui lucent oculi sicut solis radij, Sicut splendor fulguris, qui lucem donat tenebris. |
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7. |
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8. |
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