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The alchemist

Back in the 1890s, There was an alchemist,
That In Grasse he used to live,
Cooking perfumes for the ladies he seeked,
Everyday he would smash cinnamon and herbs,
And from his mother's garden he would pick up levander and roses,
Passionate, he used to make recipes that noone has ever seen,
They were top secret, locked in an old cabinet.

'The mastermind of Paris',
'The artist of the decade'.

That's how people used to call him.
But Little did they know that this appealing man, With all that kindness in his heart,

Ripped out other hearts
So he can steal the ones he desperately needed.

He killed, there was blood on his hands,
And with that the seeked women became his only dream,

'THE BEST FRAGRANCES OF PARIS'

(Inspiration: Perfume: The story of a murderer (novel)

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