• Thou dost ill to fill thy soul,
    To fill thy soul with grief.
    To dwell upon the sorrows of a lost mind,
    Stuck upon the earth, set to find.

    Thou decay in the soil, thine body may rest,
    Divine guidance may hath been sought.
    But all for naught, for the moon is high,
    As if to mourn, the angels cry.

    The demons howl upon the blight,
    Where your soul shan't be offered flight.
    Dragged to the depths of the world below,
    Thine body may rest, but your soul shan't flow.