Ah, you thought that i was
one that you can forget
and that you throws it, praying and crying,
under the hooves of a bay.
Or take to ask to the witches
rootlets into the water enchanted
and i send you the terrible gift
of a scented handkerchief and fatal.
That you be cursed!!
i will not touch with groans
or with looks, the your damned soul,
but I swear to heaven,
on miraculous icon,
sull’ebbrezza of our nights burning:
I never, come back to you.