I weep as I have never wept
beneath the cold, comfortless moon
a faded, unkempt appearance:
I gathered my rosebuds too soon

I see myself at purgatory's gate,
I fear yesterday, and dread tomorrow
I pity myself and curse my fate,
I shudder to think of the impending sorrow.

All I had has now been taken
and I, a hopeless wretch
shattered, bedraggled, forsaken.
once a portrait, now a mere sketch.

No more laughter now, no more songs
No more smiles, only a tear-sodden face.
I am where my miserable soul belongs.
I have to now mend my sordid ways.