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I played with fire,
in the solitude of the forest.
Greedy for revenge, hungry for power.
«I call the black man,
son of the night,
Nephew of fate.»
my blood slips into the fire,
While my voice,
Whisper in the night,
in an ancient forgotten language.
I close my eyes,
I feel the black man’s breath on my skin,
he’s cold, sure,
he flows rhythmically,
he still asks me for blood.
Intoxicated and enchanted, by her breath,
I get lost in her requests.
My blood blends now with the naked and the cold ground,
And I become the breath of the black man.