What wretch is he,
Who ignores every sign,
That they all flee,
From that soul inside of me.

Well, I present him here.
I am he.
Ha, don’t you find it queer,
What’s become of me?

My optimism falsely proved,
The dreams became a lie,
My lot has not improved.
I raise my voice at the sky.

Kind words abound,
What deeds back them up?
Companionship rarely found.
Give me my hemlock cup.

Dull is the pain,
Normal is the grief,
Little is the gain,
And the loss, it is chief.

What care I for friends by my side?
Broken promises are enough for me.
By sorrow, how can I hide,
What is fully plain to see?