But Thought's The Slave Of Life, And

He Does Me Double Wrong That Wounds Me With The Flatteries Of His Tongue.

Thus Die I, Thus, Thus, Thus. Now Am I Dead, Now Am I Fled; My Soul Is In The Sky: Tongue, Lose Thy Light; Moon Take Thy Flight. Now Die, Die, Die, Die, Die.

And Some That Smile Have In Their Hearts, I Fear, Millions Of Mischiefs.

Society Is No Comfort, To One Not Sociable.

Mine Eyes Are Full Of Tears, My Heart Of Grief.