For toleration of the crimes
Of how wicked life can be
Why must I again set sail
Where the wind is forced
And all words fail
To sound unlike my own
No birth of after life
Dead is dead
What's wrong my life
No smiles foolish told
No time for love
I'm to damned old
Grow up for the mother's care
No nonsence or love to share
Dry days and spittle breath
As you praise the ways
And hold the hand of death
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