Imprisonment, death the only things left
Propel me into immortality
Of inspiration I am bereft
Tell, is fame worth more than morality
If one lacks an artistic state of mind
Then induce it artificially
With the devil a contract I do bind
And sell my soul to Mephistopheles
Though I do not lust for power, treasure
Gold palaces, beautiful women
Desire is desire in any measure
And only love will get you to heaven
A red rose lies withered upon the ground
Wisdom and knowledge nowhere to be found
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem