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You have sold your soul to devil, Dorian Gray. |
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Now you're waking dream, my dear Dorian Gray. |
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And your picture lies upstairs hidden by, |
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a purple sheet of sins and shame. |
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And the trivial things of life, my poor Dorian Gray, |
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make your head turn around and now you pay your faults. |
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Then you took the knife and you tore your heart, your heart. |
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And the blade is like the key for safety, |
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and your blood is getting hot and cold, |
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and the blade is like the key for safety, |
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and your blood is getting old and cold. |
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Now your jealous friends can laugh from the realm of hell. |
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Envy disappeared and joy arose for them. |
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With the fame, success, you burn in the red, |
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hot fire, of rotten woods. |
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And your leprous yellowish face, is turning into dust. |
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Seeking shelter, peace and rest into the depths of earth. |
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At the end you find the last punishment, the last. |