Wry not, thy sorrowful soul
For the mist ain't wander no long,
the sparkle has crossed the ocean's kin,
In the gayness of the day.

Wry not, thy bloodshed flesh
For the scars won't bleed no more,
The molten magma has chilled down,
Over the anvil of the hay.

Wry not, thy lost mind
For gazing soothes won't hide no long,
The frost has lost the painter's brush,
In the warmth of whom thy pray.

Wry not, thy pricking bird
For thou seeds to pick won't hide no more,
The branch has bloomed a fresh pair today,
For all your kind to stay.

Why not, thy father's son,
For the demons won't survive no long,
The cross has not lost it's vigour,
With the easter eggs astray.

Wry not, thy penship's ink,
For the treacherous blots won't form no more,
The ink hasn't lost itself
For another hopeless, gloomy day.

I waited, O' hear my sire,
for the broth me to.
Melting the warmth within the room, all alone, with a cold coffee in hand.

I trusted, O' hear milady,
for the imprudent wretch pumping my chest,
Begging to walk the past track, all alone,
with a cold coffee in hand.

My squire was irked, but alright,
for he'd never seen his mentor so restless,
Waiting a wind never to be blown,
Along the cafe's window pane.

"No sugar, more froth please" O' waiter,
For she liked it like that, before we parted,
and all that's left of her is me, all alone,
With a cold coffee in hand.

Perhaps the fate urged for this, O' Father,
for you wrapped her in a peaceful shroud,
But took my only blanket, leaving me untangled, all alone,
With a cold coffee in hand.

Sending ravens to the aimless pecks, O' heaven!
For she is yours to take care of
as I don't procrastinate anymore, no getting her back, just happy all alone,
with a cold coffee in hand.

Why did you **** my hopes, O' Mother?
Burying the moonlit sky with clouds of despair,
For me, my soul, and all above is dry,
Even with the cold coffee in hand.