Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.
The old church tower and garden wall Are black with autumn rain And dreary winds foreboding call The darkness down again
If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I'd be your slave.
Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
how cruel, your veins are full of ice-water and mine are boiling
It is strange people should be so greedy, when they are alone in the world.