Guilt over a heartbreak,
That I myself did cause;
Guilt over his feelings,
His goodness, and his laws.

He shouldn't have fallen for me,
No; I'm only a foul.
And now all that I can see
Is the guilt, branching constantly
Turning itself into a tree,
Something for only me to keep.

Give it away, give it away!
Screams the voices inside of me,
But what they know is only, per say,
A selfishness that won't guide me.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry!
For all the feelings I've caused;
I'm sorry for what I've done,
I'm really, quite sorry for all.

I was once a tender, little thing,
With round cheeks and rosy skin;
Who wondered the world, free of sin,
And saw the world in a rosy tint.

I was once a happy, young thing,
With a constant smile and a good heart;
Who loved the world, in cheery oblivion,
Without a doubt, even in obsidian.

Then, I saw the world,
In a suddenness, a swirl;
Of hate, deceit, and cruelty,
Of lies, trade, and trickery.

I became a doubting child,
Though, by manner, still quite mild.
I realized, though, the life I had
Was filled quite fully
With the mad.

I became a bitter man,
Grown from the hard, trying land.
I hated the world, in it's full,
And hated it's people, life, and mulled
Over the sinners, over the tides,
And about many sad things, besides.

Now, on my deathbed,
I realize the mistake I made;
It was quite a dire trade
Of loveliness and life
For resentment and strife,
And now regret is the only thing
I feel and can sing.

And now I know that my tirade
Was pointless, and really, only made
My own life more miserable,
And nothing more;
It only made my own body sore.

Perhaps, if I had known more,
Of the goodness and love
Not only the hate and war,
Then I could have rested in peace
And known the truth
Before I had ceased.