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In a soil rich and full of snails
I would dig myself a deep grave,
Where I would rest my old bones under nails
And sleep in oblivion like a shark in a wave.

I detest testaments and hate tombs so;
Rather than beg a tear from the world for my pains,
Alive, I would rather invite the carrion crow
To bleed the last piece of my filthy remains.

O worms! Black companions without eyes or ears,
Come to a joyous corpse, free, without tears;
Epicurean philosophers, sons of decay,

Go through my ruins without remorse or delay,
And tell me what torture could possibly lie ahead
For this old soulless body dead among the dead!

-- Charles Baudelaire

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