O despair, now it is always night!
with mine eyes, i see only blinded sight,
And every sound, which comes upon my ear,
is one i know longer wish to hear,
And the scents, which i do smell,
reminds me only of this hell,
And the tastes, which fall upon my lips,
will never be so purely bliss -
Six feet beneath my dead heart lies;
Now the angel has left my skies.
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