Born of sorrow, born of woe,

              thoughts that cannot let me go,

legions waiting in my sleep,

              nesting vermin in this deep,

and decrepit place I know,

              for the one that let me go,

fate has fashioned destiny,

              to be stricken, like a plague,

And for pity, I can't beg,

              nor does time relieve the pain,

shackled in a loathsome room,

              my heart, hidden, like a tomb.