Oh, in the depths of the soul's despair,
Where sorrows lay, and the heart is bare,
Morbidity lingers, ever there,
A pall that drapes in the very air.
A purposeless existence, so forlorn,
Where dreams and hopes are ripped and torn,
And loneliness doth leave us worn,
With a yearning for a love that died before being born.
The days go by, with no delight,
In endless circles, without respite,
With burdens heavy, and no end in sight,
A weight that crushes with all its might.
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