Too much pain and sorrow,
Where would it lead thee?
A lonesome place which one could not stand till tomorrow;
A pace of madness straying till thee fall on thy knee;
Why did thee allow this to happen?
Couldn't thee hear thy crying thy pleading under the tomb of distress?
When would that door be open?
When would thee be able to breathe on fresh air under thy praise?
Is there any hope left?
Or thee only wait to shoot for thy blue moon?
Thee long for that sun its warmth and the green left;
But 'tis hard to seek when one is buried under thy doom;
Yet down on that casket of sorrow a shadow of mem'ry bloom,
A flower which freshen the rotten feeling of thy womb;
