My ways, that I thought already fulfilled,
There both have lost their way
And when I approach the end
Again encounter such wounds.
And I know the truth to doubt,
But throughout thorn in the rose garden
The end is approaching and more alone,
Hopes go dormant.
Singing in folly, verse useless
The world no avail, singing futile
In the dreamer's own incoherence,
Even a trace of love, any fire,
And at the end when I get used,
You come so delicate ... how laughing