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My Weary Soul Has Been Besieged...

Моя душа осаждена…

My weary soul has been besieged
By the insanely strange sins lately.
She's like a hoary wife, it seemed,
Before her grooms, serene and stately.

In chambers she's to spin her yarn
And vail her eyes with stern abandon,
Just to control her passion blind,
To tame revolt of wild blood stranded.

But if the odds of winning waned,
With pride I would recall our sworn vow,
And in the banquet hall unnamed
I'd pick the poisoned cup to pour down.

And death will come to heed my call,
Like great Odysseus king heartless,
The screams of her grooms would befall
When ruthless arrows hit their targets.

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