Help me, for I’m overcome; a sudden wish to die.
Just a couple minutes back I felt above the world,
But now I can’t sit down without that painful urge to cry,
Now her silken hair has flown, her loving arms uncurled.
Before the clock struck thirteen, I was sitting in the sun
In an innocent position built of humble gratitude;
Her breath beneath my beating breast, my cold heart overrun
With blissful breeze windmilling into settled solitude.
I’d end my life, that I may have that feeling once again,
That soul-fulfilling feeling of sensations unreserved,
In the blazen afterlife, above my corpse, above the rain,
Although I feel the once was more that any man deserved.
Approacheth he the meloncholy lass,
And asketh ‘Why art thou so sunken sad?’
Replieth she, ‘My mis’ry is a man.
‘Men are, I fear, a false and faithless band,
And shame on she who care not curse that clan.’
With this, the tears accross her cheeks began;
Dark pools made they ‘pon landing in her lap.
With sympathy, he sets down where she’s sat,
And says ‘A judgement most unjust is that.
‘Nay, black and boorish be not ev’ry man;
‘Say not so, save that I thou thinkest am.’
Why can’t I just be the same?
I feel no love, but feel it’s pain;
I cannot hear what she is saying
Though I can’t remember why.
I gave her up too willingly,
Her test passed unfulfillingly;
I speak the sorrow I am paying
To our love of days gone by.
Don’t people know my disposition
Is of mine own sad composition?
I act this way because I’m praying
Love will see my colours fly.
Damned lust, it has my spirit called,
Not just to get my ashes hauled,
But, while we are each other laying,
Sing our c’resses ‘neath the sky.
The sun comes forth through open clouds,
The mourners donning blackened shrouds,
And through the tombstones, children playing,
Laughing as their parents cry.
Perhaps it’s best to not remember
Then perhaps, come next December,
I’ll have forgotten what I’m saying
And watch those open clouds roll by.