my eyes will not close,
and my sorrow has rose,
as it begins to close,
and any happiness that bestows,
dies as quickly as it is born,
as I go to grab the flower of gladden,
I feel the prick of sorrows thorn,
and my heart becomes sadden,
this sorrow has been my calamity,
since the day I entered humanity,
and left the fruit of the womb,
now I rest under the dark moon,
waiting for my tomb,
but maybe hope will rise,
and this life I despise,
will be worth living before my demise,
and in my life's days,
sing her beautiful praise
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